


I smell smoke, but where's the fire?

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky and Steve are veterans, But trying to be grammatically correct, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, I'm just projecting ok, Jealous Bucky Barnes, Jealous Steve Rogers, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Modern AU, Reader-Insert, Smoking, Smut, Steve Rogers is also an awkward sweetheart and Reader loves him for it, Steve Rogers is the BEST bro, We love our broken Brooklyn Boys in this house, You can honestly pry the between two lovers trope from my cold dead hands, You really shouldn't read this it's so dumb, how do you choose tho, i have no idea how it will end, my first reader insert, plus size reader, sort of a college AU but not really, we'll see how it goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-06-25 17:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15645963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Reader has just graduated college and is feeling a little lost.She meets two very different men (Bucky and Steve, respectively), and has no idea about their connection to each other.She agrees to go out with both of them, and romantic comedy style hijinx ensue with a side of angst from Bucky and Steve's veteran backgounds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this. I am supposed to be working on my novel but I needed a break and this is really just me working out my sexual frustration at not being able to like, bang fictional characters.
> 
> Ugh. Sorry the tense is all over the place, unbetaed beause I'm ashamed.
> 
> Well, here's my garbage. Enjoy.

You have a fancy college degree and $20,000 in debt and barely anything to show for it but a few short stories and your senior portfolio. You haven’t decided whether to join the teacher program or not, and you’re feeling a bit aimless, walking around downtown with your trusty Dell laptop in your backpack. 

You’ve done the college thing, so you’re looking for a bar you haven’t thown up in downtown near campus when you spot a neon sign saying simply “Cocktails” and you see a tall man leaned up against the streetlight, smoking.

You definitely haven’t thrown up there, so you hitch your backpack over your shoulder and head that way.

As you get closer, you see the man more closely, and your heart speeds up a little because goddamn, he’s handsome. Well built, wearing a green Henley and dark jeans. His bicep flexes a little as he smokes.

You’re no blushing virgin, that’s for sure, although before college you were kind of nerd. You’d blossomed, though, learned more about what makes men tick, and you’d had your share of college boyfriends who hung around your dorm, bar hookups, and the occasional “real date,” but never anything serious.  
In fact, there was a certain boy who hung around your place, now, and you liked him a lot, but he drank too much and since you’d just recently caught him sneaking out in the early morning and avoiding a lot of phone calls, you’d been half ass back on the market.

So instead of walking in, you walk toward the man, who is pretending he hasn’t seen you, although you’d caught him checking you out in his peripheral vision.

He had his long hair tied back in a bit of a man bun, but he wasn’t dressed like a hipster, and no beard, just a bit of stubble, and jawline for days, as the immortal Lady Gaga once said.

You’re dressed pretty casual for the bar scene, but this is the downtown near a college campus, so you’re not exactly underdressed in a pair of white shorts and a red halter top in the sweltering summer heat.

He nods at you a bit as you walk toward him, and you smile at him. He smiles back, a little crookedly, and you think a girl could fall in love with that smirk. He’s trouble, and you already know it.

His eyes are an even blue, crinkling up a bit at the corners, and oh no, your kryptonite, he’s got a full, luscious mouth.

“How are you doing this evening,” you ask, cordially, as if you’re just passing by.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke and snorted a bit. “Gotta work in 10 minutes, so not great, I’d say. It’ll be a slow night this soon after graduation.”

“Oh, you bartend here? Is it new?”

“We opened a couple of weeks ago. Not much traffic and lots of competition. I told the owner that when we moved here, but what do I know? I’m just a lowly bartender.” He shuffled a bit and put out his cigarette at the receptacle by you, not quite brushing past you. 

He smelled amazing, but you didn’t comment. Playing it cool was definitely your style, and it worked.

Well, most of the time. You’d always been bigger than the other girls in your group, with a full bust which was purely genetic and big thighs which after numerous workouts remained large and you were just never, ever going to have a flat belly.

You’d learned what your assets were, so the halter top showed ample cleavage and the shorts were short enough to show off those big thighs. You liked your body just the way it was, mostly, and if anyone else didn’t, they didn’t have to look.

“What are you doing out here all alone? Where’s your boyfriend?”

You smiled. There it was. No man asked you about a boyfriend unless he was at least mildly interested. 

You shrugged. “Don’t really have one.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Well it means there’s a guy, but he’s not my boyfriend.”

He smirked at you, and you swooned a little inwardly. He was standing much closer since he’d put out his cigarette, and you were trying not to look at his broad chest In that Henley. 

“I bet he thinks he’s your boyfriend.”

You shrugged again. “Oh well. Your girlfriend go to college here?”

His smile grew wider, and you knew he knew you were interested by that question. It was all such a game around here, and you did kind of love the banter.

He shrugged playfully, mimicking you. “Don’t really have one.”

You laughed. “I see. So we’re in the same boat, huh?’

His smile faded a little and he looked down, breaking eye contact. “Not exactly. I had a girl, and I was happy, but she wasn’t, so she packed her shit last night and split.”

Uh oh. Post breakup flirting. That was always dangerous, and maybe too much for you to handle right now. You smiled at him again. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m gonna go in and get a drink. Nice to meet you.”

You held out a hand politely.

“Name’s Bucky,” he said, and took your hand.

His hand was hard and calloused, and so big. He shook it once, slowly.

You don’t offer your name, and he seems a bit surprised. Instead, you impulsively ask him about his.

“Bucky? There has to be a story behind that.”

He chuckled, meeting your gaze again. “Not much of one. Family name is Buchanan, and that’s not something you wanna tell pretty girls you meet on the street.”

HE CALLED ME PRETTY you scream inwardly, but then you check yourself. He’s super hot, he’s single, but he’s not what you’d call available after a bad breakup so soon.  
You still don’t offer your name, just smile at him a bit and walk inside to get a drink.

When you have your standard dirty martini with as many olives as they’ll give you, you sit at a table and open your laptop, waiting for inspiration to strike.

It’s only just as you’ve gotten settled that you see him walk in and go to the bar, and he’s looking at you from the bar every time you glance over there.

You manage to write a little, at least an outline, even though you’re distracted, and your martini is almost empty when someone sits another one next to you. You look up to see Bucky smirking at you, holding your empty glass in his right hand.

“Real dirty, lots of olives, right?”

You use your standard response, a little startled. “As dirty as you can make it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m an expert at dirty.”

Alarms start going off in your brain because he’s good at flirting and he’s so good looking and although you’re a self proclaimed master of banter you have gone completely blank, so you just chuckle a little and go back to your work.

You hear the scraping of a chair and then he’s sitting next to you, almost close enough for your knees to be touching.

Instantly, you turn on the charm. It’s a practiced routine after 4 years of college bars.

You turn to him. “You want something, Mr. Buchanan?”

He groans a little, laughing. “Please don’t call me that. I do, in fact. I want your number.”

“Oh, you do?” You say, feigning surprise.

He meets your eyes, smiling. He doesn’t speak, just nods.

“Why should I give it to you?” This is a standard response when a guy asks for your number. Their answer depends on whether they get it.

He took a moment, still looking at you, still smiling. “Well, see, I had a real bad morning. A real bad day, really. Then this gorgeous girl starts talking to me outside this shitty bar I work at, and honestly,” he stops, looking a bit shy for the first time. “And honestly, if I get your number, this shitty day turns into an amazing one.”

You keep thinking you shouldn’t give it to him, that he’s just gotten dumped and he’s so hot and sweet but this is bad fucking timing, but he hands you his phone and you’re putting in your number anyway. You save yourself in his phone as Gorgeous Street Girl, and when he gets it back he gives you a huge smile, lighting up his whole handsome face, and you’re doing your best not to blush.

“Ok, Gorgeous Street Girl. Expect a text soon. I’ll let you get back to your work. He gets up and slides the chair back in place with one hand.

You drink your martini and leave a generous tip and get the hell out of there, because the most awkward moment is after you’ve given them your number and before they text or call, but you can’t stop smiling the whole way home.

You don’t look at your phone constantly or anything, because guys, especially hot guys, take a few days to text you. They don’t want to look desperate

When you go to sleep that night, though, you think of even blue eyes and that dangerous smirk.

Later the next day, your old dorm roommate, Stephanie, calls you.

“Let’s go out tonight! I miss you,” she whines.

“I literally moved out yesterday, Steph.”

“I know but I’m so used to just waking up an going in your room to say hello.”

“And to wake me up too early.”

“Let’s go out! Come on! I hear there’s a new bar with a smokin’ bartender.”

“Did you?” You’re smirking, now, and you can’t wait to tell her about your encounter. You tell her everything, leaving nothing out. She was your roomie for 4 full years, and you can trust her with anything.

“Oh man, I don’t know. Just got dumped? They were living together, too, so it had to be serious. How hot is he, scale of 1 to 10?”

“Like a 15,” you admit reluctantly.

“Oh my god we gotta go there. Like, right now. It’s called The Watering Hole, right, with the neon cocktail sign?”

“Yep, that’s it, but look, Steph, if he’s working tonight he’ll think I came back just for him and I don’t wanna seem that eager – I don’t even know about this with the whole breakup thing.”

“I know what you mean, I’m just eager for you to get rid of Connor. Ugh.”

“I know, I know. He hasn’t even called since Tuesday.”

“Well, it’s Friday night, and we’re going. If he talks to you, and he will, you can tell him that I dragged you there.” 

“Well, that would be the truth Steph,” you say, deadpan, and she laughs.

By the time you and Stephanie get out to the street, it’s around 9pm. Stephanie keeps insisting it’s too early but you’re not worried about the crowd, just the one sexy bartender, and since he was outside around 6 yesterday, you think he might work the early night shift. Part of you doesn’t want to miss him, and part of you does. 

You’re anxious and flushed even through the makeup Stephanie expertly applied, and you look great, you have to admit, in your tube dress with your strapless bra which had taken two weeks to find in a store in your size and your 4 inch stillettos. The blue dress really makes your eyes pop. Stephanie dresses in blue, too, since the shade looks amazing with her dark skin.

When you arrive at the bar, you’re so nervous you stand outside for a moment to gather yourself. You get about 10 seconds before Steph is dragging you inside. You look at the bar immediately, and there’s a gorgeous girl with bright red hair working. Your heart sinks and you’re relived at the same time. He hasn’t texted you today, and you don’t want to seem needy. 

You go up to the bar to order your signature drink, and while you’re waiting, bouncing a bit to the bluesy music in your stilletos, a man comes up next to you and orders a beer. His voice is soft but kind of authoritative, and since that is kinda hot you turn to look at him.

The man next to you is built like a Mack truck, so broad across the shoulders that the plain white tshirt he’s wearing is stretched thin. You bet he’s a large but he wears a medium just for that effect. 

He’s not looking at you, but you bet he’s seen you, because the bar isn’t busy yet and there’s a dozen other places he could be standing. 

When he notices you looking, he turns to you. “Hello,” he says simply, his voice low, barely audible over the music.

“Well, hello back,” you say instinctively, because you’re a little surprised at how handsome he is. With a body like that, it seems almost wrong to be this handsome.

He has a roman nose but it fits his big face perfectly, and bright blue eyes and a sharp jaw. 

What is going on with these smoking hot guys lately? Did you win some kind of lottery? Is this a karmic reward for your charity work with your sorority throughout college?

Also, where is Stephanie? She’s been in the bathroom for like 10 minutes. Knowing her, she’s probably making out with the first guy that hit on her. Stephanie is a riot at a party, and you love her for it.

You smile at him. “Hey, Steve.” You kind of awkwardly give him your name. You’re off your game. You weren’t expecting to meet anyone new tonight.

“I’m new in town. I came here with a buddy of mine and I don’t know anyone, so I was wondering if you might want to sit down and talk with me.” He said, very forward and honest, and he’s looking at you with such openness that you accept. 

He takes your drink and his beer to the table and sits down, looking at you, waiting for you follow.

Dazed, you walk over to the table, and as you walk, a smile creeps over his handsome face.

As soon as you sit down, he slides just a shade closer to you.

“Do you go to school here?”

“I-I did,” you stammer, taken aback by his forward approach. “I graduated a few day ago. Creative Writing.”

You waited for the standard response about your useless degree.

He smiled wider. “I love creative people. I’m an artist, myself. I’m not very good, but I love it.”

“I’d love to see something of yours sometime,” you say, quietly, and he looks down and you can see him flushing all the way down to the vneck of his tshirt.

It was maybe the most adorable thing you’d ever seen a ridiculously hot guy do, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you shy, Steve?”

He looked up at you, still flushed. “I actually am, a little, but when I saw you I just had to try to talk to you.”

“Why?”

He flushed again. God, he was cute. 

“Well, I-“ he stammered a bit, then recovered. “You’re beautiful.”

You smiled at him. “Well Steve, you’re not bad yourself, you know.”

“Aw,” he murmered, turning five shades of red. “I’m all right.”

You laughed. “Really? You expect me to believe you work out that much and don’t know you’re smoking hot?”

He’s turning almost purple and you almost feel bad for him. “Well, I used to be real skinny, but I worked really hard in Basic, and-“

“Military, huh? Army?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m retired, though. I got out as soon as I could after my buddy got hurt. We’re kinda like family, you know.”

You cocked your head at him. “I’m sorry to hear he was injured.”

Steve set his jaw, looking down into his half finished beer. “Yeah. Me too.” He looked back up after a moment and smiled at you. “It’s ok though. He’s strong.”

You hear a faint hissing of your name and you turn toward it. It’s Stephanie, sitting on a barstool staring at you and pointing at Steve. She mouths “is that him?” and you shake your head. 

She nods, points back at Steve, and makes a fanning motion with her hand and pretends to swoon. 

You’re trying not to laugh and when you turn back to Steve he’s still looking at you earnestly.

“Well, Steve, it was great to meet you – I hope everything works out with your friend, but I’ve got to go back to my friend now.”

You scoot back in your chair and suddenly his hand is around your wrist.

“Wait,” he says, blushing again. “I know I’m not very good at this. I was in the Army a long time, and before that I was such a stringbean – I’m not good with women…especially not  
ones as beautiful as you. I was hoping that maybe we could do this again? Maybe somewhere quieter?”

You smiled at him. He was so sincere, and his blue eyes were so earnest, and you just couldn’t resist. You recited your number as he fumbled for his phone, and then repeated it for him. He even asked you how to spell your name. What a sweetheart.

Of course, Stephanie wants to bar hop, and after a few more drinks you are riding home in the cab and you’re telling her all about Steve.

“God, I hope his friend is hot, too. I need some new blood.”

“You gave your number out to four guys tonight, Steph,” you snicker.

“Yeah, but it’s no fair, all four of them put together isn’t as hot as the Army strong dude from the bar. Is your bartender that ridiculously attractive?”

“Yep,” you crow, a little smugly. Then you lose your smile. “He probably won’t call. Guys that smooth never stay single for long.”

Steph rolls her eyes at you. “Stop it, Miss I Drank Too Much and Now I’m Maudlin. He’ll text you tomorrow, I’d bet money on it.”

You shrug, but you feel a little better.

The martinis have gone to your head, and you don’t even think to check your phone before you crawl into bed and pass out.

 

You wake up to the sound of dinging text messages, and snatch your phone up from the nightstand.

4 from Steve, all insecure and adorable, attempting to set a date. He asks you what flowers you like, what food you eat, and he’s so bad at flirting that it actually makes him good at it. It’s refreshing.

1 from the mysterious Mr. Buchanan, and of course it was sure and confident, just stating a time and place with a single question mark.

Two very different invitations from two very different men, and hell yes you were accepting both. They were in completely different areas – Steve’s a small Italian restaurant you’d never been to because it was crazy expensive, and Bucky’s a Thai place you’d been to maybe once. They were on different sides of town and different days, and it wasn’t as if you hadn’t done this before in much closer proximity.

Bucky’s invitation is for tonight, and Steve’s is for tomorrow. What a wonderful week you were shaping up to have!

Your hair had been up in a bun when you first met Bucky, so you wore it loose this time, and choose a fairly simple black dress with a plunging neckline. Stilettos seem a little much for a Thai place, so you choose red flats instead.

You arrive just a little late so as not to have the awkward waiting for a table bit, and you spot him almost right away. Who could miss those shoulders? He’s got his hair pulled back but it’s falling a bit loose in the front, surely orchestrated that way, and wearing a white buttonup that looks tailored to his frame. The first two buttons are undone to show a  
luscious hint of chest.

He sees you, too, and he’s giving you a lazy smile but he seems a bit stiff, much stiffer than when you’d met, and it makes you wonder.

There is already a glass of water and a martini with a ton of olives sitting on the table, and you smile at the gesture. He’s really too good at this to not be trouble.

He stands as you get close and pulls out your chair with one hand, reminding you of him moving the chair in the bar.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you say, as you sit down.

“We really must stop meeting like this,” he fires back, but without the full force of his flirting earlier this week.

He sits down hurriedly across from you, and he meets your eyes. He takes in a deep breath.

“Something wrong? Am I underdressed?”

Bucky shakes his head violently. “God, no! You look amazing, unsurprisingly.” 

You put your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand. “Then what’s up, Mr. Buchanan?”

He frowns at your nickname. “For one thing, I just realized that you never gave me your name. Should I go on calling you Gorgeous Street Girl, or just shorten it to gorgeous?”

You smile. “That works for me,” but then of course, you do give him your name, and he nods, looking down at the table, his hands in his lap.

“Okay, so I guess I’ll just get this out of the way then,” he said, and put his left arm on the table. It made a loud clunk, and you jumped a little.

Instinctively you glanced down at it, and it was then that it dawned on you that it was a prosthetic. You took in a little breath, but otherwise made no reaction. It was more that you felt stupid that you hadn’t noticed, him using one hand for everything, the long sleeved Henley in the middle of August…suddenly you felt extremely unobservant.

You look up at him and his blue eyes look haunted, and you can’t stand it, so you reach out and take his right hand. “Get what out of the way?”

 

He smiles at you, then, and loses some of that haunted look, but not all of it. “I lost it in-“

You squeeze his hand and cut him off. “Hey, Bucky, you don’t have to tell me anything, unless you just want to.”

He looked relieved. “I knew there was a reason I liked you. Everyone always asked, like it could possibly be a fun story.”

“You mean you didn’t have a freak accident involving a trapeze artist at the circus?”

He laughs, then, low in his throat, and you realize you’re still holding his hand. You take it back to drink a bit of your water.

The waiter appears suddenly, because waiters have an innate sense to know when something has been awkward and show up right after it. It’s a talent you wholly appreciate on dates.

After you both order, he says, “I honestly cannot believe I somehow got you here after I spilled my guts about my breakup and bitched about bad business at the bar.” 

“You’re just that good,” you said, and he laughed again.

“I used to be a lot better, before all this,” he said, gesturing to his left arm.

You almost spit out your mouthful of martini. Better? Than this? “Oh, you are trouble.”

“That’s me, James Buchanan “Trouble” Barnes.”

“Ok, so Mr. Trouble, tell me the truth. Why’d you pick me as your rebound?”

Bucky grimaced. He looked like that question pained him. “You’re not a rebound. You’re a gorgeous, smart girl who just pulled me out of a dark place in the space of about five minutes. It made me think you might be something special.”

“Oh, I am,” you said, and he laughed again, low and rumbling, and it was doing things to you.

He’s quiet for a moment, looking down at his food. He hasn’t ordered a drink, which is super weird for a bartender, but just like with his prosthetic, you don’t ask questions.

He doesn’t look up at you, seeming intrigued with his glass noodles, when he asks, “So what about this guy?”

“Which one?” you say automatically.

He laughs and shoots an intense look at you. “You’re the one that’s trouble, gorgeous.”

“Who? Me?” You point to yourself innocently.

Bucky is smiling now, but it’s a little different. “Just wanted to know what my competition was.”

“Are you competitive, Mr. Buchanan?”

“Extremely.”

“Good to hear. I like a man who fights for what he wants.”

He nods, still half smiling. “Gorgeous, I’ll fight tooth and nail for you. Just give me an address.” 

You can’t help grinning, although you are still wary about his breakup. He’s just the kind of trouble you’d like to get into, you realize. “Nah. That’d make it too easy.”

“Ok, ok, you’re right. So I’ll do some sleuthing. I already have, actually.”

“Have you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Well, not on purpose, really. A coworker told me there was this gorgeous brunette at the bar last night.”

Oh, no, you think. He knows you went looking for him. How best to avoid this?

“Which bar?” You ask, innocently.

He gives you a look.

“Ok, ok. I may or may not have dressed to the nines and went to a bar where a certain attractive bartender works,” and you see his grin widening. “However,” you continue, emphasizing the word, “said bartender shouldn’t read too much into it.”

“Oh, I’m not. I was told you were quite occupied while you were there.” He’s looking down at his food again, but his shoulders are a bit stiff.

Shit. Steve. Why hadn’t you thought of this? Gossipy ass bar workers.

“Bars are no fun without a bit of conversation. It’s way too early for you to be jealous, Mr. Buchanan.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said without hesitation, taking a bite of his food while looking at you. His blue eyes were a bit too intense, and you were loving every second of this.

“Just competitive?” You offered, since his mouth was full.

He pointed at you, nodding. “Finishing each other’s sentences already, I see.” He leaned back from the table. “I’m full.”

You nodded. “Me, too.” You’d cleaned your plate where he’d barely touched his. He really had been nervous about the arm.

“Could I drive you home?”

“I actually walked. I live right around the block.”

He grinned. “Perfect. The helmet might really mess up that sexy bedhead look you’ve got going on.”

“Of course you drive a motorcycle,” you said, thinking out loud, drunk less on martinis and more on him.

He pays the bill before you can even think of asking to split it, and he leads you out the door with his right hand on your lower back. It almost seems to burn where he touches you.

You talk a little on the way there, mostly flirty banter, some real stuff, you telling him about your younger siblings, him telling you about his sisters, and by the time you reach the door, you’re praying he’ll kiss you goodnight.

When you turn to try and say something not awkward, he steps closer and puts his hand on your face.

He leans in and kisses you, open mouthed, soft at first, and then his hand goes to the small of your back and he presses you flush against him as he kisses you harder. Your head is spinning, and when he lets go, almost abruptly, you feel a little lost for words.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he says, smiling at you, and starts to turn away. You grab his arm, and in your rush, not thinking, it’s his prosthetic.

He looks back at you, almost pained, as if something’s been ruined, and you let go, softly.

“Bucky,” you say. “Want a nightcap?” Then, remembering his lack of alcohol that night, “I’ve got tea.”

He grins at you again. “I would love some tea.”

You kick off your shoes at the door and go into the kitchen to make tea and possibly quiet the screaming in your brain about why in God’s name you would invite this guy inside, this guy you met YESTERDAY who literally told you he’s on the rebound and looks like he does and drives a motorcycle and is so very obviously that guy who never calls you again after something like this, and then you’re not thinking at all because he’s come up behind you without you ever hearing a sound, and slipped his right arm around your waist, tightening his forearm, and kissing your neck and….

You never get around to making that tea.

You spin around to kiss him and he hefts you up onto the counter. Somehow it’s extra sexy that he can do that with one arm. The mugs you’ve put out clatter and you jump a bit. 

He lets out that low, sexy chuckle again and moves closer. You spread your thighs a bit and then he’s between them, still kissing you, and you don’t quite know what to do with  
your hands so you start to unbutton his shirt and he stops you, but he’s distracted enough that it’s not before you get it far enough to spread it open and see his broad chest and the layers of raised scars on his left shoulder.

He stopped you but he hasn’t moved away, and his blue eyes look a bit panicked, so you move slowly, not breaking eye contact. You trail your fingers along his chest, not making a sound, and then duck your head and kiss him there, softly, in case it’s sensitive.

He groans low in his chest and it doesn’t sound pained, but you lift your head nonetheless and he’s looking at you like no one ever has, almost awed, his blue eyes wide and then something clicks and he’s moved away, buttoning his shirt, not looking at you.

He won’t look at you, even when you make a protesting sound when he moves away, and before he opens your door and walks out, he chokes out a low, “I’m sorry,” and leaves you there, breathless, on the counter.


	2. bells and whistles, but no alarms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky thought the army had gotten it all wrong, putting Steve on the front lines. He could've been killer in interrogation, with that look.

"Who pissed in your cornflakes, Barnes?"

Bucky, waiting for his shift to start and kicking himself for the events of last night, looked up from his phone and realized he'd been scowling down at it like a lunatic. 

Steve sat down across from him, grinning.

"You're in about as good mood as I am in a bad one."

"Got a hot date tonight."

Bucky almost laughed. "You?"

Steve socked him in his good shoulder.

"No, seriously, Stevie, I'm proud of you. Talking to girls and whatnot." He looked down at his phone again, frowning.

When he looked up again, Steve had his hands clasped together on the table, giving him the dreaded serious look.

"Buck, you can tell me, whatever is going on -"

Bucky groaned. "Come on, Stevie, it's nothing. Don't get that Mama Bear look."

Steve shrugged, still looking at him with those open, honest blue eyes. 

Bucky thought the army had gotten it all wrong, putting Steve on the front lines. He could've been killer in interrogation, with that look.

Bucky let out a deep breath. "Fine. I had a hot date last night - college girl, recent graduate - and I fucked it up."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like the Bucky I know. What happened?"

Bucky scratched his jaw along where he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. "I mean, it was great. Amazing, really, and not just for a hookup or anything. She was so great about this-" He gestured to his prosthetic arm. "So I guess I took it too fast, and back at her place I kinda lost it."

"Because of the arm?"

"Because of the lack thereof," Bucky said, bitterly, and Steve punched him in his good arm again, hard enough to hurt. "Punk!"

"Jerk," Steve said, automatically. "You're an idiot. She obviously liked you enough to invite you in after she knew about it."

Bucky sighed again. "I know. I guess I'm just not ready after..."

"After Helen? Seriously? You guys were basically just roommates the last time you were on leave, and you told me you were one foot out the door. Then the way she reacted when you got home-"

"It was the way she reacted that fucked me up, Steve. It's like, we were done and I knew it but I didn't want it to be because of this."

Steve looked down at his hands, and Bucky knew that look, too.

"Aw, Stevie, don't do that, either, ok? It wasn't your fault, and you know it."

"Should've been me," Steve said, softly, and this time it was Bucky who socked him. Steve looked up at him, his eyes a little shocked.

"Hey, what did I tell you about that? I told you never to say that again, and I mean it. This is not on you. It wouldn't have been you, anyway, you shoot for shit unless you're close range, so shut up."

Steve rubbed his arm, still looking solemn.

Bucky's mood instantly changed. He'd been looking after Steve Rogers since they were little kids in Brooklyn and this gave him something to do, something to focus on rather than the soft, wet kisses he'd felt burning on his scars when he woke up this morning, something other than the low, sexy yet disappointed groan she'd made in her throat when he'd backed away.

"So let's lighten up and you tell me about your girl, huh?"

"Aw, Buck, I don't know-" Steve rubbed the back of his neck, a habit from before he'd bulked up in Basic, and flushed a deep red. "She seems really great. I just met her on Friday night."

"But what does she look like, Stevie? Is she a slip of a thing like Peggy was?"

Steve is flushing a frightening shade of red. "Shut up, Buck."

"So a curvy girl, huh? Way to go, Rogers."

A notification sounds and both Bucky and Steve reach for their phones and kind of laugh at each other for doing it.

It's Steve, of course, and when he reads it he breaks out into a huge smile.

Bucky smiled fondly, waiting.

Steve looks up at him, still red. "Buck, I'm nervous. There hasn't been anyone since Peggy, and..."

"Don't think so much, Stevie. She likes you, or she wouldn't be going out with you. Just bat those baby blues at her and listen to what she has to say, and you'll be fine."

"I don't want to be fine. I wanna be great," he muttered. "She's way better at this stuff than me, and I bet there are a dozen guys hitting on her in bars."

A small alarm went off in Bucky's head. "Did you meet her here?"

"Yeah. We sat down to talk at this very table." 

The alarms quieted. Rick had told him about a hot brunette at the bar, sitting on the stool all night.

Steve fidgets, putting his phone in his back pocket and standing up. He's all dressed up, blue button up, black slacks, shiny new black shoes. At least he didn't wear a tie.

Bucky stood up after him and mussed his hair a little. Steve protested, but Bucky shook his head. "You look like you're going to a job interview. You have to relax a little."

Steve frowned. "I don't have time to change."

"You look great, punk. A ladykiller, for sure."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck again. "I gotta go, Buck, but if you need to talk or-"

"I'm gonna sock you again if you don't get going. I'll be fine. I'll either work things out with her or I won't." He shrugged, sounding more nonchalant than he felt.

Steve was still looking at him all worried puppy dog eyes, and put his hand on Steve's shoulder and shoved him towards the door.

"Go! Take her back to your place, that'll impress her. You sprang for the biggest apartment this shit town has got."

"Aw, Buck, it was only because I thought you'd move in after-"

Bucky gave him a look, and Steve threw up his hands. "Fine, fine. Text me later. I'll tell you all about it."

Bucky nodded, knowing Steve wouldn't tell him shit. He was such a gentleman it was disgusting, really. Never the type to kiss and tell.

He watched Steve walk away fondly, hoping for a good outcome for him.

He frowned at his phone once more, and finally screwed up the courage to send a text. 

_Sorry about last night, doll. Do-over?_

 


	3. seriously, where's the smoke coming from?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Nice means boring," Steph had told you once when you had bemoaned your choice in men.
> 
> Maybe it did for most guys, but you remembered the way Steve had ordered that beer, something so authoritative in his tone without being in the least violent. Remembering the way his shoulders stretched out that tshirt made you think that voice could be rather intriguing in another context.

You're walking out the door for your date with the adorable and crazy hot Steve, phone in hand, when it vibrates.

You look down at it while you're locking the door, and you want to drop your purse and keys and scream.

  
_I'm sorry about last night, doll. Do-over?_

Instead, you heft a heavy sigh and go out to the Uber that's waiting for you. You've opted for the stilettos again, and you're damn sure not walking five blocks to the Italian joint. Almost an anthithesis to the sexy outfit you'd worn last night with Bucky, you've got on a black a-line skirt and a blouse with a sweetheart neckline, red, to match Steve's cute as hell blush. 

In the backseat, you stare at those eight words. You hadn't expected anything, actually, since you felt like you'd done something horribly wrong, or he'd just gotten deeper than he'd wanted to physically and wasn't ready for the intimacy after his breakup or a dozen other scenarios that kept guys away.

You had been a little offended, of course, and disappointed, but you'd known going in that there was a lot of baggage there with his ex. Did you want to write off Bucky, with his lucious mouth and quick wit? And of course, there was that look he gave you at the end, as if you were something precious that he hadn't expected, something so haunted in those very blue eyes.

Ugh. 

The Uber was pulling up at the restaurant as you fired a text back:

_Maybe if you beg. ;)_

You hoped the emoticon was enough to convey that you weren't upset.

  
Most of today, you'd tried your best to put Bucky behind you. You'd only just met him, of course, and you had a date tonight with someone else, but that haunted look had crept into your thoughts.

By the time you'd received that text, though, you'd been pretty excited about your date with Steve, thinking of his easy smile and honest blue eyes and maybe just MAYBE you could date a nice guy, for once. 

"Nice means boring," Steph had told you once when you had bemoaned your choice in men.

Maybe it did for most guys, but you remembered the way Steve had ordered that beer, something so authoritative in his tone without being in the least violent. Remembering the way his shoulders stretched out that tshirt made you think that voice could be rather intriguing in another context.

He had this strange confidence, just standing there at the bar, and it wasn't until he'd started to speak to you that he'd seemed shy and insecure. It was pretty endearing to see both sides like that, and you had to admit you were intrigued.

As you got out of the car, you pushed thoughts of Bucky's wicked smirk out of your mind. 

Steve saw you coming in the door and stood, making for a striking figure in black slacks that seemed tailored and a button up shirt that seemed maybe just one size too small. He'd unbuttoned the sleeves and pushed them up to his forearms, which you appreciated with a roving eye.

You'd first thought the tight tshirt he'd worn at the bar was intentional, but after speaking to him and seeing his blushing, you doubted it.

He'd said he used to be skinny, although you couldn't imagine that, looking at the way he took up space, now, and maybe he was still buying clothes too small because he hadn't figured out how to dress his new body. His new, perfect body. 

Without a word he pulled out your chair and you sat down, scooting up a bit to get to the table. 

He stood behind you for a moment, and you felt his big hands behind you on the chair, just barely touching you between your shoulders.

Then you heard him take in a deep breath and he went back to his seat, running a hand through his hair as he sat.

You didn't remember his hair being so long as he brushed it back from his face. It was just long enough to brush the collar of his shirt, which happened to be about the same color as his eyes. In the dark of the bar you hadn't seen how light it really was, dirty blond, really.

He'd shaved for your date, you thought, because you remembered looking at his sharp jaw while he was turned to face the bartender and thinking you liked his stubble. Without it, his jaw was even more impressive.

Impossibly, he was even better looking than you'd imagined.

You gave him your most winning smile, and just like that, he was blushing again, making you a whole lot less intimidated by his good looks but also made your heart ache with how earnest he seemed.

Instead of looking away from you as he had at the bar, he kept his blue eyes on you, and suddenly you felt a little wary that maybe this aw, shucks sweet and shy boy thing was an act, because his gaze was almost steely.

"It's so lovely to see you again," he said, and you're a little shaken by how sexy that gaze is, so you clear your throat and take a sip of your water.

"You clean up nice," you say, teasing him, waiting for the blush, and it inevitably came, blushing down even to his chest where his shirt was a little open.

You bet he'd debated on wearing a tie.

"Aw," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one big hand, and you thought aw shucks and chuckled a little.

"You look-" he spread his arms out, seeming lost for words. 

"I assume that's a good thing?"

He nodded vigorously and drank half his water in one gulp.

The waiter came, and you blessed their innate senses of awkward moments again as you both ordered your drinks, a craft beer for him and a white wine for you. This wasn't a dirty martini kind of place, after all.

When you looked back to Steve, though, you were having a bit of deja vu, because he had his hands clasped in his lap, shoulders slumped a bit. 

While he was looking down you could see how impossibly long his eyelashes were.

"At ease, soldier," you taunted a bit, and he looked up at you with a bit of a sad half smile that legitimately hurt your heart.

"I'm sorry," he said, and then, just as he'd done at the bar, leaned over and circled your wrist with his hand. Just like before, his grip was loose enough for you to get out of, but tight enough to get your attention.

You scooted a little closer to the table and put your other hand over his on your wrist, finger brushing over his pulse.

He took in a sharp breath and his blue eyes were suddenly very intense, and you thought maybe you had misjudged this "nice guy," for sure.

"Don't be sorry. Ask forgiveness, not permission, my roommate always says."

Steve laughed, then, low in his throat, and this time, he's not blushing. "So that means I should say what I want and say I'm sorry later?"

You shrugged. "I think that was the gist of it."

He sits back in his seat and his hand brushes slowly off your wrist, making you shiver a little.

Broad shoulders straight against his chair, legs spread, locks of sandy colored hair just brushing around the corner of one eye, he looks like something out of a photoshoot, and you're having trouble concentrating on just his face, to be honest.

"I really like you," he said quietly in his authoritative voice, and you shivered again. Something about that voice just made you want his hands all over you, and you find yourself more and more intrigued by him.

"Aw, shucks, Steve, I like you too," you say, teasing him, but he doesn't smile. He's still got this steely glint in his normally earnest baby blues.

"I haven't thought about anyone this way, this much, since-" he breaks off there, and you sense some history in his face as he rubs the back of his neck again, a quite adorable nervous tic that shows off his biceps.

"-in a long time," he finishes, leaning forward and hunching his impossibly broad shoulders a bit. 

This look he's giving you, this steely, intense look is making your face feel hot, making you want to blush, and you kind of love it. What girl doesn't love to have a guy looking at you like you're the only thing in the room?

"You thought about me?" You can't help but say, flattered and more than a little turned on.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his voice lower, a little raspy.

"Are you always this obedient? Even in bed?" You tease, hoping to rattle him, hoping to make him blush again.

He half smiles at you again, somehow looking both earnest and incredibly sexy, and calls your bluff, not breaking eye contact.

"No, ma'am," he says emphatically, straightening his shoulders. 

Heat floods throughout you.

Whatever you'd done to deserve two hot dates in as many nights, you thank whatever benevolent gods have bestowed this upon you.

The food arrives, thank God, because you had no response for that.

You chat during dinner a bit, almost small talk, and you tell him about your family and your roommate and your cat and suddenly you realize you've been spilling your guts and he's just been watching you, smiling, nodding earnestly in places, only responding to what needed to be responded to, just listening.

It had been a long time since someone had listened to you like that, and it was pretty refreshing, you had to say. 

You weren't learning anything about him, though, so you ask him about his middle name, a common ice breaker.

He blushes then, and you find your lips curling up in a smile.

"Grant. Steven Grant Rogers, named after a president and born on the fourth of July," he said, giving her a sheepish look.

You almost choke on your wine from your surprised laugh. You're still chuckling, holding your stomach, when you notice he's still watching you, his eyes big, almost shocked looking.

When you meet his gaze he clears his throat, one hand twitching on the table. You'd bet he wants to rub his neck again.

"I'm sorry. It's just all too perfect," you say, still grinning. "All American all the way, huh?"

"I guess so," he says, softly, still smiling at gazing at you.

"What? Something on my face? Did I dribble wine?" You ask, knowing damn well you haven't.

He shook his head, not losing his smile. "You just..you have an enchanting laugh."

You shook yours too, marvelling a bit. "You're way too handsome to be such a gentleman, Steve."

He laughs at that, loud and open. "I don't want to be," he said, and gives you a steely look before dissolving into blushes and looking at the table.

"Handsome?" You urge, pushing him a little.

He looks back up at you, blush receding. "A gentleman," he says, low again, and you swallow hard.

"My, my, Steven Grant Rogers. I can't imagine you doing anything ungentlemanly."

He doesn't speak for a moment, and looks down at your empty plates. The food had been amazing, and you didn't waste a bit of it.  
He looks back up at you, no trace of a blush now, and you feel your heart begin to race.

He throws one hand up in the international signal of "Check, please," and you reach for your purse.

He does his patented grab for your wrist and shakes his head at you, smiling. "Don't even think about it. I owe way more than the cost of this dinner for the pleasure of your company."

"See? Gentleman," you say, and he gives you that half smile again, and suddenly it looks a little mischevious.

As you walk out confidently in your stilettos, the wine and the company giving you a soft buzz, everything smooth around the edges, the cold air hits you at the same time as you feel his hand on your lower back, and you shiver. It's been raining a bit, and the air is cooled and moist.

"Cold?" His voice is low, and you shiver again, not turning.

Before you can answer, he's moved his hand around to your hip and swung you around. You totter in your stilettos as he crowds you, both arms around you, resting just a little lower than you'd imagined from him, and you make a gasp of surprise.

As you do, he gently pushes his body against yours, shielding you from the brick of the wall with his arms, and leans down, his nose barely brushing yours, and you're barely breathing, now, he smells like heaven and his breath smells fruity, like oranges from the craft beers he's been drinking all night, and just before he puts his mouth over yours, he whispers something to you, low and rumbling.

"Forgive me."

Then he's kissing you, and there's nothing aw shucks about it. He kisses you like a man who wants to do a thorough job of convincing you this is what you might want to do every day for the rest of your life, and it may be working.

He breaks away sooner than you wanted him too and stands with his forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. 

"Ask forgiveness, not permission, right?"

You laugh before you put your hand on his face and kiss him again, and he moans when you break apart too soon.

"Come on, soldier. You may not be a gentleman but I doubt you kiss girls senseless in the street all night."

He pulls back from you, appalled. "No, never - I just-"

You kiss him again and that shuts him up, and he's staring at you dumbly, arms down by his side, when you tuck your hand into his elbow.

He instantly tenses his arm, bicep bulging, and you kind of want to bite it but you don't want to turn him into a stammering mess again so you just tug on him.

"Let's go for a walk, huh?"

He nods and then steers you the opposite way of your house. You raise an eyebrow but you don't protest.

He doesn't seem dangerous in any way, and of course, your ex roommate knows to expect a text message when you arrive home, and if you're not going home a one letting her know where you'll be, just in case.

He's so sweet on the way there, tucking your hand tightly between his bicep and elbow, ducking his head down to speak to you since he's so much taller, even with your stilettos. He doesn't say much, just tells you about the apartment and that he'd planned to have his best friend move in after he got settled, so he got the biggest place he could find.

As you come up to the apartment building, you realize it's easily the most expensive in town, and of course he's on the top floor.

"Family money?" you ask in the elevator, really just teasing, and he sets his jaw, mouth in a hard line.

"Not at all. My ma- she didn't have much at all. Since I retired from the army, my pension keeps me comfortable. I did some...special work, so it's more than most guys get. I don't think it's fair, but they keep sending it to me."

"Your friend, was he in the same-"

Steve nods, once, and you trail off. His lips turn up at one corner, but it's a little bitter. "They called us the Howling Commandos. Stupid, really. We did a lot of missions no one else would volunteer for, is all. It happened on my watch. I fell asleep, see, and-"

You tug at his bicep, which your hand is wrapped around. He looks down at you, eyes big and sad.

"You don't have to talk about that, Steve. I'm sorry to bring up bad memories."

He gives you a grateful smile. "They weren't all bad."

"I know your friend appreciates you being there for him all the time."

"He's my family," he said simply.

You had found he had no siblings when you talked about yours at dinner, and that his mother had passed away a few years ago. He hadn't mentioned a father at all, so you assumed he was absent or dead, too.

You thought it sweet, that Steve had someone he was so close to and that he followed from Brooklyn. You couldn't miss the slight accent, and when he'd told you, you hadn't been remotely surprised.

Something had niggled in the back of your head when he talked about home, how his accent got stronger when he talked about it, something almost familiar, but you blamed it on the wine, thought maybe you'd think of it later when a dizzyingly handsome man wasn't accross the table.

You think of it again, now, but the elevator is dinging and Steve is propelling you toward his door with his long legs, you struggling a bit to keep up.

He drops his arm to open the door and you try to move away to give him space but he grabs your wrist again, and when you look up at him, he brings your hand up to his mouth to kiss it, giving you a less than gentlemanly look.

You're kind of shocked that you're doing this twice in a week, but since it didn't work out with Bucky maybe this was the universe's way of making up for it, and one date that ended in disaster didn't make a relationship, for sure.

You're a bit nervous when he ushers you inside, but he slips out of his shoes at the door, and so you lift up a leg and grab the heel of one stiletto, politely, bracing yourself on the door jamb.

Steve grabs your ankle, much in the way he had grabbed your wrist, circling it gently. There's a ring of fire where his hand is.

"Leave them on," he says, in that soft, authoritative voice, and the fire spreads up your body.

"Yes sir," you say, a bit breathlessly, and put your foot down as he releases his grip.

He smiles at that, looking uncharacteristically confident. He gestures to the living room, furnished sparseley but very tidy, a big, comfy looking wrap around couch in the middle with a coffee table, the only untidy thing in the room, strewn with sketchbooks and fancy looking colored pencils.

"Please sit," he says, politely, as if you're at a job interview, and you smile as he shuffles off to the kitchen in just black socks.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, right at the corner, feeling a bit stiff, not really knowing what comes next. You hear some clanging in the kitchen, and while you're waiting your eyes drift down to the sketchbook on the table in front of you.

You look to the kitchen door, and don't see him, so you curiously flip open the cover.

When you see it, your heart nearly stops.

You pick up the sketchbook slowly, looking at it intently, and that's when Steve comes in, holding a bottle of beer and a beer mug in one hand, and a glass of white wine in the other.

A look of sheer panic crosses his face but you don't drop the book, instead tracing the lines of the portrait, a beautiful girl, smiling a bit mysteriously, with long hair and wide eyes.

"It's beautiful," you say, because it's true and because his face is saying that he's horrified that you've seen his work.

He swallows hard, putting the drinks down on the clear space on the coffee table.

"It's nothing in comparison," he says, shyly, sitting close to you, his knee brushing yours.

"Who is she?" You ask, still looking at the woman on the page.

Steve murmers something low, and you can't hear him. You turn toward him and he's got his hands in his lap, looking down.

You turn his face toward yours with one hand. "Don't you be insecure about this, Steven Grant Rogers. You're so talented. This literally took my breath away," you say, gesturing at the sketchbook.

"It's nothing," he says, "I'm sorry - I know it seems weird but I couldn't get you out of my head. I couldn't see you that well at the bar and if I drew it now it'd be much better-"

That was you? Oh, sweet Steve, this woman was much more beautiful than you, or maybe this is how he saw you, first time he'd met you in a dirty bar, and he'd thought enough of your beauty to put it down in this sketchbook.

You're overwhelmed, a bit, but it's so sweet and pure that you're touched, and you kiss him, softly, but he surprises you when he puts his left hand in your hair and grabs your waist with the other, pulling you to him, kissing you harder, a lot less sweet and gentlemanly, a lot fiercer.

The sketchbook thunks on the floor, but you let him guide you, swinging your leg over his waist to straddle him. You break his kiss and he's looking at you like you're the only person in the world rather than the room, and you lean down to kiss his collarbone peeking out from his shirt, and when you do he lets out a breathy, low moan close to your ear and it sends goosebumps all over your skin.

He pushes you gently away, looking into your eyes earnestly now. "I'm sor-"

"Don't you dare apologize," you say, a bit furiously, and he stops.

"Yes ma'am," he drawls, looking looser now whether from the beer or from you on his lap, and picks you up completely effortlessly, which no man has ever done or even attempted, and leads you unceremoniously into the bedroom, your legs wrapped around his slim waist.

He puts you none too gently on the bed and crawls on top of you, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your collarbone until he reaches the swell of your cleavage, as if he's asking for permission.

Impatiently, you pull down your top and your trusty strapless bra, exposing both full breasts to the air conditioning, your nipples tightening instantly, and Steve takes in a long, sharp breath before his mouth is on your breasts, roving over them, and then suddenly on your right nipple, pulling just the way you like.

You focus just enough to deftly start unbuttoning his shirt and you slide your hands around his tight abs, around his waist, pulling him closer to you, working your way down to his belt buckle.

He covers your hands and then unbuckles it himself, whipping it off with an audible snap.

Oh, hell yes. He's not so obedient at all in this arena. You reach down, palming him through his boxer briefs, and he's a soldier at attention, all right, and as big as his stature suggests. He bucks his hips a bit and climbs further up, pushing you up toward the pillows, your breasts bouncing in his face.

His eyes are everywhere but your face, and your tight skirt is bunched up around your hips now, exposing the translucent pink panties you'd bought in hopes of a fun night. 

His eyes shoot up to your face when you tighten your thighs around his hips to urge him on.

"You're so fucking sexy," he says in a near growl, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Language, soldier," you say, feeling a little drunk for the first time tonight, feeling dreamy and sensual, and maybe it's not the wine but just the way he's looking at you like you're some Greek goddess for him to draw.

He kisses your neck, between your breasts, sliding down lower and lower until he's pushing your skirt up further, rough, impatient, and then his mouth is right there where you want it, his breath sending waves up pleasure up your spine.

Then a loud, insistent ring sounds, just like the ringing of a real land line phone, and the spell is a bit broken.

Steve groans loudly and pops his head up from your lap. "I'm sorry. Just ignore it."

You nod, smiling at him, and gently kick his right hip with your foot. "Carry on, soldier." 

He grins, then, wider than he has all night, and it's a bit wicked. He catches his teeth on the string of your panties on your hip, and you gasp, and then the ringing stops and instantly starts again.

Steve groans again, breathing hard, and pushes himself up on his palms. "Sweetheart, please, stay right there. I mean right there. Do not move a muscle. I just have to--" he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, still staring down at your body like it's some kind of art.

He puts the phone to his ear. "Hey, it's late, what-"

You can't make out the words, but it's clearly a male voice, so no ex girlfriend to worry about, at least.

You look at him, patiently. Disappointment rolls through you as you see a frown cross his face, and when he gets off the bed and buckles his slacks, you know all the fun is over.

You let out an involuntary sigh and start arranging your clothes as he walks out of the room, running his hand through his hair.

You hear him talking in a low voice from the other room. "No, it's okay. No, I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes, ok? Ok. Just...stay there, ok, pal?"

You quietly pad out of the room in your bare feet to retrieve your heels.

As you're putting them on, he comes out of the kitchen, looking disheveled and distressed.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, but you know it's not from the look on his face.

"No. I mean, yes - I mean, it will be," he stammers, aw shucks again. "God, I'm really sorry about this, I swear-"

You smile at him. "Stuff happens. I get it. I can get an Uber." You turn away from him.

"No!" He grabs your wrist again, harder this time, and when you turn around surprised, he lets go as if you are on fire.

His voice is softer when he speaks again. "No. Please. I'll drive you home. My car is just down the street. "I'll explain on the way."

In the car, which turns out to be a 1969 blue Mustang, in prime condition, he's focused on the road but he's grabbed your hand, fumbling for it as if he were drowning and needed something to hold on to, so you hold it tightly.

"It's my buddy," he says, and you are quiet, waiting for him to continue.

"He's had a hard time, after the war, you know, after being hurt, and something happened last night that shook him. He's been drinking, and he really hasn't done that, since..."

He takes a hand from the wheel to run through his hair again.

"I understand," you say, softly, and you do. "Like you said, he's family."

He turns to look at you, gives you a grateful smile, and brings your hand to his mouth. "You're perfect, you know that?"

"I do," you say, teasingly, and he laughs.

As he pulls up to your apartment complex, he leans over and kisses you, hard, hungry. "Please tell me we can do this again," still holding your hand in a death grip.

"Of course we can, soldier. Just remember what I said."

"Ask forgiveness, not permission?"

You nod, once, then smile at him and get out of the car, waving goodbye as he stares at you for a long moment and then shakes his head, smiling, throwing up one hand in a sad wave as he shifts to reverse.

He speeds away, and you sigh heavily.

As you crawl between your sheets after showering off Steve's scent, you wonder, can a girl get blue balls?

It isn't until the next morning that you notice the new voicemail and 3 missed calls you've gotten from Bucky.


	4. that siren sounds really close, doesn't it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she'd kissed those scars, looking at him the whole time, moving slow like he was a wild animal, he'd felt whole again for the first time, and it scared the shit out of him. He'd run off like an idiot and now he was calling her again, berating himself for doing it, but he was maudlin and drunk and he just wanted to tell her...tell her she'd made him feel real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some dark stuff in this one, my AU version about Bucky losing his arm.
> 
> I wrote like 2000 more words in my last draft but the power went out and I lost it UGGGHHHHH

Bucky wasn't having a bad night, not at first.

The guys at the bar ask him to stay after close for a beer, and he accepts because he doesn't want to go home to his empty apartment just yet, doesn't want to admit that he's been staring at the door, hoping she'd walk in.

He doesn't want to admit how obsessively he's been checking his phone after you stopped replying, doesn't want to think about how she might be tangled up right now with some guy with two arms to hold her, and he'd be the reason why, the way he ran off like that.

One beer turns in to five and everything's still ok, he's a little drunk but he's not thinking of anything but how sweet her mouth was on his scars, and walking home he calls her a couple of times but he doesn't have the guts to leave a voicemail.

He gives up after the third call goes to voicemail, and when he steps in to his apartment that's when things go a little sideways.

There's a box of Helen's things sitting on the couch, and he plops down next to it. He rips off his prosthetic arm like it's on fire and it lands in the box. 

He knows what's in it, packed it up himself. Shampoo, makeup - nothing personal, nothing uniquely hers, because she wasn't there, in the end, was she?

Neither of them had been in it for the long haul, but it was comfortable and easy until he got hurt. She'd seen him in the hospital a couple of times but he'd been so drugged and Steve had been everywhere, all tears and apologies, and it was easy enough to focus on telling him it wasn't his fault, taking care of him, just like he always had.

He remembered the way she hadn't looked at him, not really, the first night he was home from the hospital, or any day after. She'd moved in after his first tour, when he'd been back almost three months, and things had been good then. Maybe they weren't in love, but they were happy enough.

He remembered when she left, the way she looked right through him, and he thought maybe when she brushed past him she'd just walk right through him, was honestly surprised when she bumped against his good shoulder. 

"See ya around, Buck," she'd said, a bit wistfully, and then she was gone.

She didn't see him, just like he was a ghost, and he felt that way, too, felt as if he wasn't really here, as if he was still scrambling to hold on to that rock in Afghanistan.

It hadn't been Steve's fault, Bucky didn't lie to him about that. It hadn't been anyone's fault, not Bucky's, not even the fucking Taliban they were stationed there to spy on. It had just been dumb bad luck. He'd set up there, had plenty of space, or at least what a sniper accounted for space. The rock was sandy, crumbly, just like everything else, but he'd even slept up there on Steve's watch. When he'd seen the guy sneaking up behind Steve, though, he hadn't thought to account for the small amount of recoil, and there was a hole through that guy's head and Steve was up, gun at his shoulder, but Bucky was sliding, scrambling for a hold because there was nothing below but sharp rocks and a ditch. He slipped on the first hold and went down hard, grasping at anything he could, and he heard a faint ripping as his fatigues came away at the shoulder.

He hadn't even known the fucking arm was missing until he was lying in the ditch with a half dozen broken ribs and looked over to see nothing but blood and bone. He was lucky, they said, that it came off at the shoulder - less arteries in that area. Lucky that his whole arm was dangling somewhere on an Afghan cliff.

They found him the next day when he'd managed to drag himself on the road with one arm, hearing the Humvees. Steve had been there, not crying but just looking shellshocked, as if he weren't really there, and boy, Bucky knew the feeling.

Helen had looked through him like he was a ghost, and he guessed he was, guess he'd left more than just his arm on that Afghan cliff. Or maybe he'd always been a ghost, watching over Steve from yards, even a mile away, and nobody saw him, of course, nobody heard him, it took them 16 hours to find him because even the goddamned Army didn't have a good read on his location.

Bucky felt like maybe he'd never even really been there at all when she looked at him like that, and the other night, well...that had been something different.

He couldn't wink at a girl anymore and get her number, but somehow he'd managed to get her to go out with him, and she was everything he needed that night, light and fun and so sweet when he'd shown her his stupid fake arm. She hadn't wanted him to tell her how it happened, hadn't prodded him for details, treated him like a regular guy.

When she'd kissed those scars, looking at him the whole time, moving slow like he was a wild animal, he'd felt whole again for the first time, and it scared the shit out of him. He'd run off like an idiot and now he was calling her again, berating himself for doing it, but he was maudlin and drunk and he just wanted to tell her...tell her she'd made him feel real.

"Hey, doll, I know it's late. I'm sure you're out having fun somewhere, too busy to listen to the likes of me telling you how good you felt, how soft your skin was under my mouth and how I wanted to eat you alive. You're probably out with some guy with two arms to hold you with, someone who can carry you to bed properly, somebody real, somebody there..." 

He stops, knowing how he sounds, and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Sorry. I've had a couple of beers. Maybe you're just asleep, all that gorgeous hair spread out on the pillow. I just wanted to tell you....even if you don't call me back, and God knows, I'd understand....I wanted to tell you that you made me feel real again, that's all. I know that doesn't make any sense. Just...you made me feel like I wasn't missing an arm at all, you know?"

He hung up then, and went to the bathroom to wash his face.

Looking into the mirror, he didn't recognize himself, felt like he could see right through his reflection, like he was transparent, and maybe he was still hanging off that cliff, huh? Maybe he was still there, all this time, and this was just some dying fever dream, and - Bucky punched the mirror to stop those thoughts, and his hand came away bloody. 

The stinging brought him back a little, though, and he had enough sense to call Steve.

Steve sounded out of breath, and Bucky tried to take it back, but Steve knew. Of course Steve knew. 

Bucky instantly felt bad, because he was feeling a bit better now and was sitting on the closed toilet lid with the first aid kit in his lap when Steve banged on the door.

"Use your key, punk!" He yelled, and Steve came bursting in, and Bucky was still surprised sometimes to see how much space he took up these days.

"Buck?"

"I didn't think this through, pal. How am I gonna bandage this with one hand?" Bucky held up his knuckles wearily, not wanting to look at Steve's concerned face.

Steve didn't ask him what happened, just started winding gauze around Bucky's knuckles like he was wrapping them for a round with the bag or a boxing match.

"I'm sorry, Stevie. Your date-" Bucky did look at him then, and Steve was shaking his head, lips set in a hard line. Steve tucked his broad shoulder under Bucky's and Bucky let himself be lead to the bed.

He didn't feel dizzy, but it felt comforting to have Steve's heft under his shoulder, and when Steve stretched out next to him, he didn't complain. They'd slept like this countless times, as children, in the Army, and it felt like being back in Brooklyn at Steve's house, hiding under the covers with a flashlight and reading horror comics.

"So how'd it go? Did I interrupt anything?" Bucky opened one eye and smirked at Steve.

Steve groaned. "Buck, you gotta know, your timing...it really fucking sucks."

Bucky chuckled, and was surprised to find it was a real one. "Just call me Cockblock Barnes." 

Steve snorted at that, and Bucky started to laugh. Steve did, too, loud and open, and suddenly it was all okay again, because they had each other.

There was something like home in knowing there was someone to bandage your wounds, watch your back, listen to you talk when you'd done some really dumbass thing, and they laid in silence for a while, not knowing that this would be the last time in a long time, maybe ever, they would trust each other this much.


	5. Does that smell like gasoline to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You scoff. "No one is perfect, Bucky. Least of all me."
> 
> "You're perfect to me," he says, solemnly, and he leans down and kisses you, so softly, slowly, barely opening his mouth to let you in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut smut SMUT!
> 
> Buck is low key salty af about you dating other people. He still doesn't know it's Steve. Drama Drama Drama

Your heart leaps into your throat when you see the voicemail from Bucky.

His texts make it seem like he had been drinking, for sure, but that seemed weird since he ordered water at the restaurant...maybe he just didn't drink on dates? 

_10:05 PM : Hey, gorgeous, what are you up to?_

_11:36 PM:_ _Thinking about you._

_12:45 PM: I'm sorry if I messed things up._

You feel super weird about this. It's not as if you hadn't dated more than one man at a time, but each of those dates had gotten pretty...intense. You thought maybe you should clear the air with both of them, maybe a reminder that you weren't exclusive, but it seemed way to early.

Ugh. You'd dated two guys before, sure, but never liked both of them this much. Usually there was a clear favorite, and that was not the case this time.

You dreaded listening to the voicemail, but you did anyway, and yes, he was definitely drinking, a drawl in his voice you recognized from getting drunk voicemails from guys before.

It was so sweet, though, and he seemed to be having a hard time with things. God, this was so much drama, though. You'd said since Connor you wouldn't date anyone with this much baggage, but...

You found yourself calling him. 

"Hello?" His voice was raspy, and oh shit you just realized it's like 8am and he was clearly out drinking last night. You cringed, wanting to hang up.

"Hellooo? I can hear you breathing, doll." His voice was still hoarse from sleep but that was definitely a smirk you heard in his voice.

You let out a small sigh of relief that he was out of the weird mood he had been in last night.

"Hey, Buck, I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"Wasn't sleepin." He said, yawning.

"Right, sure. I bet you weren't drinking last night, either." You tease.

You hear shuffling sounds, like he's getting up out of bed. 

"Oh, no. I called you last night, didn't I?"

"You did." You wait, smirking a little. He's quiet, now.

"I can hear you breathing, Buck," you repeat, a little snarkily.

He lets out a low chuckle. "I'm sorry, gorgeous. I'm embarrassed."

"Happens to the best of us," you say, breezily, and then your tone changes. "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfect, doll, don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Just one too many last night."

"If you need to talk-"

"I would love to talk to you, doll, but not about that. We're all good."

His voice sounds strained, but you don't push.

"Okay. Well, I'm free all day if you want to hang out."

He's quiet for just a second, and then you hear him mumbling something. "Wake up, you big lunk of-"

Then there's scuffling sounds, a man's laugh in the background.

"Bucky? You got company?"

"Just my stupid friend. He's leaving. You're leaving, right, punk?"

You hear a man's voice in the background but can't make it out. You smile. You're glad he does have someone to talk to; he really seemed to need it last night.

"Give me 30 minutes and then I'll text you my address."

"Oh, I get to see the apartment this quickly?"

"Yes, you do. Oh, shit, wait. Should I come get you?"

You're pretty low on funds and have no idea where he lives, so you say. "If you wanna. I'd like to ride on your bike."

You can hear the sly grin in Bucky's voice. "Oh, I bet you would. Okay, 30 minutes. Be ready. Wear something sexy."

"Stop it. I'll see you soon."

You vault out of bed and start putting on some light makeup. You put your hair in a low ponytail for the helmet and throw on a white flouncy blouse and tight jeans. No time to worry about shoes so you slide on your red flats again.

He's banging on your door in 20 minutes instead of 30.

You open the door and he's standing with his good arm leaned against the doorjamb, hair falling over his eyes, looking down at you sheepishly.

You grin at him, and he smiles back and offers you a small bouquet of daisies with his prosthethic hand. 

You take it, unbelievably touched. He flinched every time you looked at it before, and now he was using it to give you flowers, You knew that was a big step, and as a reward you went to him, still leaning on the doorjamb.

He widened his eyes as you got close, and you slid your arm around his waist and pulled him to you, standing on your tiptoes in your flats to kiss him, open mouthed.

When you broke apart he stumbled forward a bit, and you laughed.

He shook his head at you, smirking, and offered his good hand. "Ready to ride, dollface?"

You tried not to blush and took his hand, and he held it all the way down the stairs to his bike. He broke apart only to get your helmet and secure it tightly on your head.

You looked up at him, wrinkling your nose. "This is not sexy."

He laughed and kissed your wrinkled nose. 

"Safety is sexy," he said, solemnly.

You groaned and he laughed again, still looking down at you fondly. Your heart swelled a bit. It was nice to see him looking so carefree. Whatever had happened last night, it looked like he was past it, at least for now.

He got on the bike, gracefully swinging his long leg over it, and fastened his own helmet. His eyes were very blue under the guard of the full face helmet he wore.

"Come on, sweetheart," he beckoned. "Hop on."

Well, that wasn't even a little bit fair. You slung one leg over, wishing you hadn't worn such tight jeans, and slid your arms around his waist, tight.

"Good girl. Ready?"

You'd never been brave enough to get on the back of anyone's motorcycle so far, and the ride was exhilarating, the engine vibrating under you, Bucky's tight stomach under your clasped hands.

Briefly, as you pulled up to his apartment, you thought about Steve, his blush and his earnest blue eyes when you saw his portrait of you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head.  _Do not think about hot guy you almost slept with last night while on date with other hot guy you totally would have slept with had he not freaked out._

Should you tell him? Should you say something? It had only been one date, but now this was the second and Steve had already texted you twice so it wasn't as if he was giving up, either.

If Bucky notices your concern, he doesn't mention it, just parks the bike and stores the helmets on the handlebars.

"Won't someone steal them?" You ask.

Bucky gives you an intense look. "They wouldn't dare."

You startle a bit. 

Then he smiles and grabs your hand again. HIs hand is so big, warm, calloused, and you feel small beside him, a rare thing for a girl like you. Not that you mind a skinny guy, even smaller than you, but this is rather nice, you have to admit.

His apartment is sparely furnished, just a worn looking recliner and leather couch, but it's neat. It's a one bedroom, but it's cozy.

He's got books stacked up beside the couch, as if that's a common relaxing spot. He goes into the kitchen, which is open, to get you a beer.

"I didn't think you drank," you said, casually, sitting down on the couch. You can see him bent over in the refrigerator. His shoulders stiffen a bit.

"Uh...I don't, really. Or...I haven't. Since...you know." He shrugs his left shoulder and you can see the hand of his prosthetic open and close.

He hands you a beer and sits down next to you. He doesn't have a drink, and you don't comment.

You nod, once.

"I can use it, you know, I just don't like to." He opens and closes his left hand, the metal of the index finger clicking against his thumb. He flinches, as if he hates the sound.

"You should, you know," you say, turning your shoulders to face him. "You should use it. The more you do, the more it won't seem..."

"Fake?" He lets out a bitter chuckle. "I don't know doll, I think it's pretty clear that it's not real."

"It is real. It's yours, right? It's like if I dye my hair bright red, I wasn't born with it, but it's real. If I had fake tits," you gestured, "they'd still be mine."

Bucky laughed uproariously. You were a little offended.

"What?"

He looked down at you, in your eyes, not at your chest. "As if you'd ever need a plastic surgeon," he murmured, and his gaze went down. "You're perfect."

You scoff. "No one is perfect, Bucky. Least of all me." 

"You're perfect to me," he says, solemnly, and he leans down and kisses you, so softly, slowly, barely opening his mouth to let you in.

Instinctively, you throw your arms around his neck and lean forward. He lets out a little surprised laugh and his arms go around you, both of them this time, and you relax into his arms, scooting forward to get closer.

You remember his voicemail from last night. "I like the way you hold me," you say, softly, and he lets out a little groan and his hands tighten around your lower back.

He puts his face in your neck, and his breath is quick and hot against your pulse, which immediately starts to race.

"I like you," he whispers into your neck.

"What was that?" You ask, a bit slyly, your chin on his broad shoulder.

He pulls back and looks down into your eyes. He looks a bit shy for the first time, and it's absolutely adorable.

"I like you so much," he said, and puts his right hand on your face, tracing your jaw.

Your heart jumps in your chest, and you suddenly think of Steve again, sitting with his back against the chair in the restaurant, open and earnest but with intense blue eyes, telling you the same thing, and you pull away from Bucky.

"I like you too, Buck," you say, looking away from him.

He stills for a moment, and then takes your chin in his hand and turns your face to his. "Hey, doll, what's wrong?"

You sort of feel like crying but you stop yourself, your eyes hot. You don't pull away. "I do like you, Buck, so much, but-"

He drops his hand, his blue eyes searching yours.

His lips tick up in a smile, maybe a little bitter. "But there's a guy?"

Your eyes widen, and he clicks his tongue, gritting his teeth.

"You knew that already," you said, not really a question.

Bucky nodded curtly, jaw set in a hard line. "You told me he wasn't your boyfriend."

Suddenly you feel like a moron. Fucking  _Connor_ , that's who he's talking about. When you first met and he asked if you had a boyfriend, you'd said there was a guy but he wasn't your boyfriend. It was weird how little you'd thought about Connor lately, since he'd been your on and off again for years.

You shake your head vigorously. "Oh, God, not  _him_ , Buck. And he's not my boyfriend. I'm just...seeing someone."

There's this tick in his jaw and he's not touching you anymore, shoulders stiff against the couch back.

You rush to explain. "It's nothing, really, I just had a date, and it went...well,"

You are blushing because that was an understatement, and Bucky won't look at you, looking down at his hand, clicking his metal index finger against his thumb over and over.

You move to the floor and sit on your knees between his spread legs, looking up at him. He won't meet your eyes.

You keep talking like a madwoman, because you're an idiot. "I just...wanted to be clear. I don't want anything to change, I still-"

He's smiling now, only a hint of bitterness, and finally meets your eyes when you put your hand on his thigh.

He leans up to get closer to you. "It's okay, doll, don't stress out. This is...new, for both of us, right?" He runs a hand through his hair and laughs a little. "It's good to be honest and open. There's no reason for me to be jealous."

His words and his eyes say two different things. They're this dark blue lightning, now, flashing at you, but you're not sure if he's angry or just surprised.

"But you are?" 

Bucky groaned and put his face in his hands. You noticed he was using his prosthetic around you a lot more now, and you thought maybe that was a good sign.

"Yes. Stupidly, insanely jealous."

He's not looking at you, his face still in his hands, as you get up and straddle his lap, trying hard not to think about how you did this with someone else 12 hours ago.

He doesn't move, and slowly you take his hands, both of them, and he allows you to drop them by his sides. You're nose to nose now, still holding both his hands and you don't move, ready to back off if you're pushing him too hard.

He's still got his eyes closed. "Stop it," he says, but he doesn't move a muscle.

"Stop what," you say, breathily. This is so oddly erotic. Why have you met two beefcakes in the space of a week? He's so wide across the shoulders with you pinning his arms.

You impulsively kiss his jaw where he's got his teeth gritted, kiss up to his ear where you breathe into it slightly.

He shifts under you and moans low in his throat. When you pull back his eyes are open and they are blue fire and you love it.

"Stop trying to distract me," he said, but now his arms are going around your waist, under your blouse, and the metal of his left hand leaves goosebumps in its wake.

You kiss under his ear, trail kisses down his throat, his collarbone. His hands are roving up your back, back down to your waist, just below the waistband of your jeans.

He's looking down at your body and you think maybe you have distracted him, but then his hands tighten on your shoulders and you put your head up to look at him.

"I don't like this," he says, through his teeth, holding back.

You go to move off him, feeling maybe you've pushed him too far, but his hands tighten harder and he won't let you. He shakes his head and does a filthy roll of his hips, pressing his hardness into you.

You gasp. "Well, Mr. Buchanan, methinks thou dost protest too much,"

He doesn't laugh, just gives you a half smile, and shakes his head. "Not  _this_ ," he says. "I love being this close to you and I want to do unspeakable things to you,"

He says this casually but the words make you shiver. He's still looking at you with those bedroom blue eyes, his head leaned back against the couch.

He sits up, suddenly, and pivots you left, his left arm behind your back, still under your shirt, metal a bit cool against your hot skin.

Then he's right there, so close you can't breathe, his hair falling over his face and brushing yours, nose touching yours, a thick thigh between your legs.

This is a lot. Your heart is palpitating. 

"I don't like feeling like this," he says, and suddenly his lustful bedroom eyes are softer.

"Like...what?" You ask, your head spinning.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and then opens them again. "Like I feel when I think about someone else holding you. Someone else doing this," He leans down to kiss your neck, slow, wet, open mouth, and you let out a squeak. 

He trails his hand down your body, deftly unbuttoning your jeans. "I don't like the way I feel when I think about some other guy unbuttoning your jeans and--"

You gasp as he shoves his hand down your tight jeans, under the pretty blue underwear you'd hoped he'd see tonight, his middle finger flush against your pussy.

He doesn't move his hand, looking at your face as if for permission. As if he needed it after  _that_. 

You nodded at him, frantically.

He slid his middle finger slow against your clit, then down into you, again and again, not much range of motion in your tight jeans. You wished with all your might you had worn a skirt.

"I don't want anyone else seeing that beautiful face like this," he said, and you popped your eyes open to look up at him. You bucked your hip as he moved his hand again, slow, up and down, hooking into you just the way you liked, and it was torture because it wasn't enough.

"Bucky," you gasped, and a huge smile spread across his face.

"That's right doll," he crooned. "I love it when you say my name like that."

You buck your hips faster, desperate, still meeting his eyes. "Buck, please-"

He chuckled, low, sexy. "Since you said the magic word."

Then his hand is moving faster, faster, up and down, brushing your clit then it's two fingers into you, curling upwards, and you come with a cry and another buck of your hips.

When it's over, you're blushing all over, embarrassed, and when he slides his hand out of your pants you buckle them, sitting up on the couch opposite him, knees up.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking chagrined, but then he gives you that half smirk and sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking slowly. "That wasn't very gentlemanly," he says, popping them out of his mouth.

Holy God. "You're so much trouble, Barnes."

He shrugged. "I warned you. James Buchanan "Trouble" Barnes."

He looks like a cat that ate the canary. Jesus Christ, what have you gotten yourself into. You're mad and turned on at the same time. You're not a prize to be won, and making you come doesn't mean you suddenly belong to him.

"Feels like you won, huh?" You say, your face hot with anger.

He shrugs again, slow, lazy.

You move toward him, predatory, and his eyes widen a bit. You kiss his throat and slide your hand down to the obvious bulge in his jeans, palming it, grabbing the base through his jeans, moving up and down, and his hips buck involuntarily and he makes a low growl in his throat, which shoots desire all through you.

You ignore it. You keep kissing his neck, palming his erection, and he's panting into your ear and still bucking his hips but when he moves his hands to unbuckle his jeans you pull away.

He looks at you, surprised.

You stare into his eyes and lean down to kiss him, hard. When you pull away, you whisper, "Enjoy your victory."

Then you stand up, grab your purse and walk out the door, slamming it behind you.

 

 


	6. something's going to explode, I just know it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, well, he's nicer than you," you spit out, angry, and you felt vindicated when he set his jaw.
> 
> "Oh yeah?"
> 
> "Yeah! He's a gentleman."
> 
> "A gentleman, huh?" He runs one hand through his hair and steps toward you.
> 
> You don't step back, let him slide his arm around your waist.
> 
> "He might be a gentleman," he says, and you were thawing a little, leaning toward him. "but you're no lady, gorgeous."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at first this was gonna be a Steve chapter, like Bucky just lets Reader leave.
> 
> But then I thought James Buchanan Barnes would NEVER upset a lady and just let her walk out, wtf, so...here this is.

You're in the parking lot, furiously opening your Uber app, when Bucky catches your arm.

You spin around to face him.

Bucky holds up his hands. Both of them, you notice. You wonder if he knows how comfortable he is doing that around you before you open your mouth to yell at him. 

"You don't own me after two dates! Or ever, for that matter!"

He keeps his hands up but he's smiling.

You hit him with your clutch, hard. He's still smiling. 

"Stop that!"

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry! You're just...you're really cute when you're mad," he says, and then flinches when you hit him again. 

"That wasn't nice! I mean, it was nice, but then you weren't nice, and now you have to take me home." You cross your arms over your chest.

"Oh, doll, come on," he's not smiling anymore, face solemn. "I didn't mean it. I told you I was competitive!"

"Yeah, well, he's nicer than you," you spit out, angry, and you felt vindicated when he set his jaw.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! He's a gentleman."

"A gentleman, huh?" He runs one hand through his hair and steps toward you.

You don't step back, let him slide his arm around your waist.

"He might be a gentleman," he says, and you were thawing a little, leaning toward him. "but you're no lady, gorgeous." 

Anger floods through you then and you pushed him away from you.

He staggers back a little, laughing. "Oh, come on doll, that was a joke! Gentlemen are boring, you know."

"He's not," you say, stubbornly, hands on your hips now. Thankfully it was still early and no one was in the parking lot, not that you would've cared.

"Oh no? I bet you didn't let him-"

You rush forward and clap your hand over his mouth. "Don't!" you warn.

He smiles behind your hand and you lower it slowly. "Don't, unless you want to know."

His smile fades. "Well, maybe I do."

"Maybe it's none of your business, Mr. Buchanan."

"No," he says, voice softer now. "I guess it's not. Not yet."

He came toward you slowly, arms out. 

You put your chin in the air, angry tears threatening. "I'm gonna tell him about you, too, you know, I'm not trying to play anyone."

Bucky stops then, jaw working. "You're gonna see him again?"

You shot your eyes to his. "So what if I am?"

"I mean, I would prefer you didn't," he said, carefully, voice still soft, his eyes very blue in the sunlight.

"Well, it's not up to you. I like him." You said, honestly, still angry but not saying it to hurt him.

Bucky drops his arms to the side, looking a little defeated. He nods, looking again as if he were gritting his teeth.

"So what do you like about him?"

You shrug, deflating a little. "I don't know. He's really good looking but he's not cocky like _you_ ," you shoot at him and then see a slightly wounded look on his face before he looks away.

You take his hand. "Can we just...not talk about this? This kind of thing happens all the time, it's not a big deal."

"It's a big deal to me. I know what I want, doll."

You take in a deep breath. "Well, if you want me to date you and only you, it'll take a lot more than two dates. So if you can't deal with that-" 

You start to let go of his hand, disappointed.

He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you to him. He puts both arms around you again, and you instinctively bury your face in his chest, eyes still threatening tears.

"I can deal with that, doll, and anything else you've got to throw at me. I was being an idiot, and I'm sorry."

"You can't act like that, Buck. It makes me feel really shitty." You mumble into his chest.

His arms tighten around you. "I know. I'm a jerk. This is the second date I've ruined. No wonder you still wanna see Mr. Gentleman."

You pull back from him. "Well, maybe you didn't ruin it. Yet, anyway."

"There's still time?" He's smiling at you now.

You nod. "I promise to give you plenty of chances to ruin everything. Now you have to order me a pizza and I get any toppings I want."

He nods back. "Done. Do you want to watch a movie?"

"Only if it's The Princess Bride and you can't make fun of it, not even a little."

He laughs. "Who would?"

So that's how you end up falling asleep, full of pizza, with your head cradled on Bucky's lap. 

It's dark by the time you wake up, and he's got his good hand in your hair. You flip over to look at him, and he's smiling down at you.

"What time is it?"

"Dunno."

You yawn and sit up and his fingers trail out of your ponytail slowly.

"I was supposed to meet someone," you said.

You feel him stiffen beside you. "Mr. Gentleman?"

You throw him a look over your shoulder. "No." 

He relaxes a bit, and you smile slyly. "That's tomorrow."

He gives you the look, then.

"What?" You ask, innocently.

"I can be okay with you dating him if you want me to be, but I don't want to hear about it," he says, grumpy.

You swing your legs around to sit beside him instead of looking at him over your shoulder. "Fair enough," you say casually, glancing around the room for your shoes. "I don't want to hear about the girls you're dating, either."

You stand up to find them and Bucky grabs your hand. You look down at him.

"I told you, gorgeous, I know what I want. I'm not seeing anyone else and I'm not going to be until you decide to choose me."

You smile at that. His arrogance is back, just like that.

He looks really handsome, peering up at you through all that hair, and you lean down and kiss him softly. 

He reaches up to grab you but you back away playfully. "Uh uh, I think we've done enough of that for one day."

He groans. "I wanted to do it all day."

You chuckle at him. He looks so pouty, and you definitely want to bite that full bottom lip, but it has been a great date, and you don't want to take things too far before you talk to Steve.

Bucky reluctantly takes you home, and you rest your head on his back as you ride, the night air feeling cool against your warm skin.

He walks you up to your apartment, holding your hand, and he spins you around to face him as you fumble for your keys.

He kisses your chin, your jaw, your cheekbone, softly. You're smiling when he pulls back.

He smirks back and thumbs your chin. "You are, you know."

"I am what?" 

"Gonna choose me."

You can't come up with a witty remark to that, not when he's standing so close.

He backs away before you can stammer something, putting his hands in his pockets.

"See you around, gorgeous," he says, still smirking, and walks away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader is SHOOKETH.
> 
> Man, I really had a clear idea who I was gonna make reader end up with when I started this but I dunno, fam.
> 
> In the next chapter, Reader tells Steve about Bucky without using his name bc this is basically a cheesy romcom I made up, and he reacts a little differently.


	7. everything's cool, gotta be a false alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take in a deep breath. "I am, though. Seeing someone else."
> 
> His hands still on your feet again, and he looks down and away from you, quickly, before going back to his task. He shrugs one big shoulder, ever so slightly.
> 
> "I assumed you were," he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dirty, dirty, dirty, but that's because no one in the history of the world has ever wanted to bang Steve Rogers more than I want to bang Steve Rogers but this means NOTHING in terms of choice, okay? It's just me being super duper thirsty and don't worry, next chapter will be Bucky and shit will GO DOWN, which of course will change everything.

Bucky texts you all day the next day, keeping it fairly light and flirty but also asking the real questions about your interests, your writing, your plans for the future, and you're happy to text him back with a goofy grin on your face for the most part.

Steve is texting you too, though, and you can't help but feel a bit guilty for flirting with them both after how heavy things had gotten on your date with Bucky, and since Steve didn't know you were seeing anyone else.

You know you don't owe anyone an explanation, of course, but Steve doesn't seem like the type to date around and he drew that beautiful portrait of you and yeah, you've got butterflies in your stomach while you're getting ready that have nothing to do with the guilt, too.

You've never been so 50/50 about two guys, and you kind of love it.

You don't love the rock in your gut when Steve rings your doorbell, promptly at 7pm, just like he said.

You take a deep breath and go to the door. You've opted for white shorts and a red blouse, comfy but cute, and no shoes, since this is a Netflix and chill type of date anyway, not that it won't probably end in drama much as your last one.

He's wearing jeans, and man do they fit him well, and another ridiculously tight tshirt, black this time. He gives you a million watt smile and your mouth goes a little dry.

He stands there, not moving, until you find your voice and invite him in, and how freaking cute is that?

When he crosses the threshold he pulls one hand from behind his back and offers you a bouquet of tiger lilies, which you now remembered telling him via text through your first date were your favorites.

You take them with a wry smile.

"I"ve never gotten these unless it was because a guy fucked me over, but you really don't seem like the type, soldier."

Steve blushed, but only a little. He was getting better at being teased. 

"My mother always said not to wait until you were in the doghouse to bring a girl flowers," he said, somberly, and then cracked a smile.

You rummage around for a vase for a few minutes and you hear the door shut but nothing else. When you turn around he is standing a few feet behind you.

You jump a little, startled, and drop the vase of flowers. Before you can utter an "oh, no," he's caught the vase in one big hand.

"Wow." You say, weirdly turned on. He's so big to be so graceful. 

He places the vase down carefully on the counter and comes toward you, still smiling.

You hold your ground, wondering if he's going to kiss you, but instead he wraps his arms around you and gives you a big, full body hug.

He's so warm and big that you instantly put your head on his shoulder. It feels oddly right, there, and when he leans down and plants a soft kiss on your bare shoulder, you are so touched that your eyes well up a bit.

When he pulls away you keep your arms around his waist. 

"Hey, sweetheart? What's wrong?"

He looks down at you and his eyes are so blue and earnest and pure that you can't help yourself. You stand on your tip toes in your bare feet and press your mouth to his.

He makes a startled sound in his throat at first but then his arms tighten around you and one hand goes into your hair, which you've left loose for the occasion.

He's the one that deepens the kiss, not you, and you want to pull away but you don't and finally it's him that pulls back, giving you a very sexy half smile.

"I'll bring flowers every time I come over if that's what happens," he says, low, not embarrassed at all, and you're the one blushing, now, backing away from him lest you end up on the counter and get reminded of Bucky and what you have to tell this very handsome, sexy, sweet, enormous man who brought your favorite flowers on a second date and drew your portrait after meeting you once in a dimly lit bar.

Your eyes are welling again and you busy yourself with getting a couple of wine glasses and the bottle of cheap Chardonnay you've bought for the occasion.

He comes up behind you and takes them from you, placing them on the counter. You stand in the open fridge, unsure what to do next, and he takes your hand and leads you to your one couch, which is really a loveseat, and since it's small and he's very not, he's forced to sit close.

"Gonna tell me what's going on, beautiful? If we need to reschedule it's no problem-"

He looks concerned and you squeeze his hand, still enveloping yours, to reassure him. 

"Definitely not," you say, and manage a smile.

You turn on the loveseat, your back against the arm and your knees up, your bare feet almost touching him since the couch is so small. You try to scrunch up in a ball as much as your body will let you, but he wraps one big hand around your right ankle, reminding you of when he told you to keep your heels on at his apartment the last time you'd seen him.

He tugs your ankle, and when you don't move he sweeps one big forearm under your knees and swings your legs into his lap, resting his arms on your calves.

"You don't have to tell me anything, you know. No pressure," and oh my God, he takes your right foot in his big hands and starts massaging your foot, handing you the remote for Netflix.

You put your face in your hands and groan. "Stop it!"

He lets you go immediately, startled. "I'm sorry; I just thought-"

"No, no, that's not what I meant." You drop your hands from your face and sigh. "I just meant stop being so great."

He laughs a little, and blushes a little too, and you hate it because he's near perfect, really, just so sweet and not to mention totally gorgeous, and you hate it that you might hurt his feelings.

"I just need to talk to you about something."

He's gone back to massaging your feet, but now his hands stutter a bit. He looks down at your feet when he asks, "Is this where you ask me if I'm seeing other women?"

You are absolutely stunned at the question and it shakes you a bit. "Huh?"

He looks over at you, eyes very blue and very earnest again. "I'm not. I mean, not that you can't. See other guys or anything, I mean, I just...I'm not."

He's flushed again, but he's still matching your gaze, wanting you to know he's telling the truth, and your heart hurts.

"Well, you know that you can, right?"

"I can't, really. Too busy thinking about you." 

You'd think that was a line if Bucky said it but looking at Steve, you absolutely knew that was the truth.

You take in a deep breath. "I am, though. Seeing someone else."

His hands still on your feet again, and he looks down and away from you, quickly, before going back to his task. He shrugs one big shoulder, ever so slightly.

"I assumed you were," he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. 

You pull your feet out of his laps and he offers no resistance but still doesn't look at you.

You swing your legs around and sit right next to him, thigh to thigh, and take his sharp jaw in your hand to turn his face towards yours.

He still isn't looking at you, when he mumbles, "I know I'm nothing special."

It's like a spear through your gut when he says that.

"Steve," you say, and his eyes shoot to yours at the sound of his name.

They're still blue, still earnest, but a little darker, now, a little hurt, and the spear twists in your gut.

"You're one of the most special people I have ever met," you say, totally honestly. "It's just, I met him before I met you, and it's only been a little while, but-"

He cuts you off.  "You don't have to tell me anything. You're so beautiful, and I know guys are all over you, and I never doubted that you have other options. I just want to be one of them," he says, and does that little shrug again, giving you a half smile that is now sad instead of sexy.

Before he showed up you had told yourself that this wouldn't end up like it did with Bucky, that it wasn't fair to either of them or to your own confused feelings to go too far with either of them, but looking at him you just couldn't help yourself, and you kissed him, hard, before you could even think enough to talk yourself out of it.

The next thing you know his hands are under your blouse and on your hips and yours is under his tshirt, skating over his ridiculously muscular stomach up to his impossibly wide chest, and he turns more gracefully than a huge man on a tiny couch should be able to and grabs your hips and yanks you down so your head hits the couch cushion and the crotch of his jeans is socked up against your thin, comfy shorts and he's hard against you and bigger than you remembered and he's kissing your neck and his hands go up your waist to the buttons of your blouse and he waits a moment, as if for permission and when you don't stop him he fumbles at the buttons. When he can't get them all and there's no room on the couch for you to help him he groans into your neck and then leans up to look down at you.

You expect him to be blushing but he's definitely not, his eyes are almost flinty blue now, and he asks in a gruff tone, "How much do you like this top?"

Startled, you just shrug, and when you do, he rips it open, buttons flying everywhere, and man if that doesn't send a fire right down from your throat to your toes.

He doesn't even bother with the bra, just pulls your breasts out from the top. You have just a second to think that Steven Grant Rogers is most definitely a breast man and then he puts his mouth on your right nipple, tugging the other with his fingertips ever so slightly, and you're making the most ungodly sounds and wrapping your legs tightly around his waist and when you buck your hips he groans again, low in his throat, and you do love that sound.

"Where's your bedroom?" He asks, not even stilling his fingertips on your nipple.

"First door on the left," you gasp out and quicker than you can imagine his arms go under your ruined blouse and he lifts you up as if you weigh 100 pounds instead of a lot more than that and lifts you up against him. You lower your legs to his hips so he can get up and he takes you to the bedroom, which thankfully is ajar so he doesn't rip the door off the hinges.

He puts you down on the bed and he's still kissing you, very thoroughly you might add, and when he pulls away it's to pull his tshirt over his head and toss it to the floor. You are awed for a moment at the wide set of his shoulders, his chest to waist ratio, and the United States Army eagle tattoo high up on his right shoulder.

Your bra has been lost in the move and now you're just in your ripped blouse and white shorts and for a second you're disappointed when you don't get a chance to touch that magnificent body before he's unbuckled your shorts. You lift your hips to help him pull them off and he discards them before roving his eyes all over your body again, as if he can't get enough of looking at you. Your panties are white, this time, and a thong as to not show in your white shorts, and before you can lean up to kiss him again he's kissing down your waist to your hip, and he stops just below your bellybutton, kissing the swell of your stomach, and usually you're a little self conscious about this but for some reason you have the idea that he loves seeing every inch of you, so you don't even attempt to stop him. He slides one finger under your panties on your right hip and again pauses for a second to wait for you to protest before he slides them down and off you.

He slides down, again, more graceful than you'd expected, and puts both his big hands under your ass, lifting you up until he's got his face in prime position, and he looks up at you with a sly grin.

"I turned my phone off tonight," he said, and then licks your inner thigh, taking his time, and you're already shaking a bit because this is somehow unexpected for this earnest, kind man to be so good at this, so good at turning you on in all the ways you like, in such little time.

He runs his tongue across your opening to your clit, flattening his tongue to reach every inch, and you buck your hips up. Unlike some of the fumbling guys you'd been with, Steve eats pussy like it's his  _job_ , and again, you are a bit shocked. You've been soaking wet since he ripped off your blouse like it was made of paper and he's teasing around your clit, only touching it with those wide, flat licks, and when he inserts two fingers into you and finally focuses his attention there, it's a matter of moments before you come, tightening your thighs around his head, your hands pulling at his thick, sandy hair.

You've got your eyes closed tight and when you're composed enough to open them he's already climbed up beside you, one arm under you and the other on your hip, smiling at you, and you cover your face, a bit embarrassed. You're naked save your poor top, and he's still wearing his jeans and socks, having apparently kicked off his shoes at some point.

"Did they teach you that in the Army, soldier?" You drawl, dropping your hands and finally getting the chance to touch his bare chest, trailing your fingers down to slip under his waistband, slow, and his tight abdominal muscles are trembling a little as you do so. 

He laughs and takes in a sharp breath and puts his hands over yours. You stop, looking up at him quizzically, and he gives you a half smile.

"I didn't...bring anything. I didn't want to assume, and I-"

You put your finger on his lips and plant a kiss on his collarbone before rolling over out of his arms to your nightstand. You open a drawer and come up with a three pack of condoms.

He's blushing again, and the flush goes down to his chest, too, which is just adorable, and you giggle a little. "I like to be prepared." 

"I mean, we don't have to, you know, I -" 

You roll back toward him and palm him through his jeans. He hisses in a breath and bucks toward your hand, involuntarily, and you plant another kiss on his collarbone, where the blush has also spread.

"It's up to you, soldier, but I'd like to return the favor one way or another."

He throws his forearm over his eyes when you kiss between his pecs, down his abdomen, licking down below his belly button, sliding your hand under his waistband again. He's breathing hard, and when you unbuckle his jeans and slide down his zipper, he's so hard that his cock springs out at you, and you wonder for a moment if you should've bought a box of Magnums. You look up at his face but he's still got his eyes covered, all you can see is that wide chest heaving and the blond stubble on his jaw and of course, his near eternal blush. 

You can't help but smile as you release him from his boxer briefs, pulling them down just a bit and circle him with your hand, or...try to circle, as it were. He flinches when you touch him and when you flatten your tongue and lick from his balls to where your hand is, he moans and you see him clutch your bedsheets with his free hand. 

You want him to look at you before you really start going, and you remember his overt attention of your breasts so you gently spread his thighs and lie between them, pulling your breasts up with both hands to fit them around his cock, and he lifts his forearm and peeks down at you, and when he sees you smiling up at him with his cock between your considerable breasts, he groans so loud you can't help but grin wider, and you hold his gaze and lower your mouth around him, slowly, your tongue circling as you go down to your hand at his base. 

He's trembling, now, and you think he really hasn't been seeing other girls or maybe you're just really, really good at this, and he's still looking down at you and his eyes are almost desperate and it's so sexy you start getting wet all over again. 

You start to move your hand and your mouth and he's got both hands clutching your sheets now and he's moaning your name and cursing and you're looking down when he leans up and puts his hands on your face. You come off him with an audible pop and look up at him.

"I'm not going to last like that, sweetheart," he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

"You can come in my mouth, if you want," you say nonchalantly, and he laughs and groans at the same time.

"As much as I would absolutely love to do that sometime, I was hoping maybe you'd like to -" he gestured at the condoms discarded on the bed next to him and you nod enthusiastically, keeping your hand on his base and bringing the pack of condoms to your mouth with your left hand, ripping one open with your teeth. He's dropped his hands from your face, leaned up on his forearms, looking at you in total awe as you slide the condom down over him and straddle his lap, rubbing up against him before you slide down on top of him, still slick from your orgasm earlier. 

He groans again and he drops down onto the bed, grabbing your hips so tight you might have fingerprint bruises, not that you'd mind, and when you start to move he bucks up beneath you and then leans up, sliding his arms up your back and pushing you down, grinding up into you in a move that brings his pubic bone into your clit and you lean down on his shoulder, panting.

He feels amazing inside you, wider than other guys you've been with, for sure, and you can tell he knows what he's doing. He flips you over onto your back with an ease you are still surprised by, and starts fucking you harder than you'd imagined from him, his hips bucking unevenly, and then he leans down to kiss you and slows, his arms still under your back, and he's pressing against your clit with every slow, hard stroke and you're almost about to come again when he pulls away and buries his head in your neck and moans.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I can't-"

You're turned on by how turned on he is, the way he's breathing hard against your neck, his face in your hair, and his hips are moving faster and faster, and you come once more because he's fucking you like he has no other choice, like his body isn't listening to his brain and the way he sounds is all kinds of sinful, cursing and moaning your name and telling you how fucking perfect you fit around his cock.

Who would have thought Mr. All American would have such a dirty mouth?

When he comes he pulls his head up and kisses you, groaning into your mouth, and then he opens his eyes to look at you and blushes again, tucking his head down and planting another soft kiss on your shoulder.

He lies on top of you, panting, for a moment, and you stroke his hair, liking the way it feels so soft under your fingers, liking the weight of him.

When he rolls off of you, it's with a deep sigh, and he tucks his arm under your shoulders and pulls you to him, jeans still shoved down his hips. He pulls the condom off with a hiss and chucks it in the nearby wastebasket before rolling toward you and putting his face against yours, nose to nose.

"I'll be better next time," he says sheepishly, and you smack his huge shoulder with one hand. 

"If you apologize for  _that_ , Steven Grant Rogers, I will kick you out of my bed, I swear to God."

He sighs. "I know it could've lasted longer, but you're so sexy and I haven't been with anyone since Peggy," and then he stopped, seeming to realize what he'd said.

Looking into his eyes, you sense something behind them. "She was special to you, huh?" You say, and he lowers his eyes.

"Yeah," he says a bit hoarsely, and rolls over onto his back, tightening one arm around you as he dropped the other to the bed.

"What happened?"

His jaw clenches, and you wonder if maybe you shouldn't have asked. "There was this mission. She was special forces, too, you see, and she just...she went off for another mission and she didn't make it back."

You lean up on one elbow. "Oh, Steve, I'm so sorry I asked. I didn't know-"

He shakes his head and smiles at you. "It's okay. It was three years ago, now."

"You haven't been with a woman in three years?"

He laughs a little. "I've only ever been with Peg. And now, you."

He could've knocked you over with a feather. This ridiculously attractive, sweet, crazy good in bed guy had only been with one woman, and she died, and now after two dates...

You are too much in the sex afterglow to not ask. "Does that mean I'm special to you, too?"

He sighs again. "Don't freak out, okay? I know we don't know each other that well and I didn't plan this, even a little bit. I just find you so ridiculously sexy and I like you so much....I figured it was time, right?"

You don't speak. Can't speak.

"I just wanted to tell you in case it was really awful, okay? It doesn't mean anything. Well, it does, but-"

You smile and kiss him before he can stutter any more. 

"I'm not freaking out," you say, and you weren't, really.. You are oddly touched. For the first time in a while, you think about a different pair of blue eyes, and there is a rock in your gut again. What the hell were you going to do now? This didn't change anything, really, I mean it very well could have been Bucky had he reacted differently to what you told him.

"I could really use a glass of wine, now," Steve says, and kisses your temple before getting up and pulling his jeans the rest of the way off. 

You sat up on the edge of the bed. "You know, usually I'd wear your tshirt but it's like baby sized, so-"

"Aw, come on, it's not that small! You'd look amazing in it," he said, picking it up and coming toward you in just his boxer briefs, brandishing it.

You couldn't help but giggle at him, but you pulled on another big tshirt you had in your closet that you often slept in, and padded to the kitchen for the wine. 

Steve is scrolling through Netflix when you bring it to him, and he downs half of it in one gulp. He is still just in his boxer briefs and he looks amazing, of course, but he is sitting a little stiffer as he watches you walk towards him.

You hope you hadn't crossed a line, asking him about her. 

"How do you feel about Bill Murray?" He asks, nonchalantly.

"Who doesn't love Bill Murray?"

He nods and starts Groundhog Day. You sit down next to him and he puts a hand under your leg to coax you into putting your feet up in his lap again.

As the movie starts, he starts massaging your feet again, and about 20 minutes in, he asks, "So whose tshirt is that?"

You are halfway through your glass of wine and watching the movie, so you think nothing of answering. "Connor's." 

He pauses while massaging your feet, and you glance over at him. His jaw is set a little firmly, so you twitch your foot at him, and he starts massaging again, pretending to watch the movie. You decide not to press him.

Another 20 minutes and you finish your wine and he's long since finished his, so you pause the movie, pull your feet out of his lap and bring the bottle. It's one of those big ones, so you don't feel like getting up every few minutes at the rate he's drinking it.

He instantly pours you a glass and fills his to the brim. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, but he's not looking at you. Again, he finishes half a glass before he speaks.

You wait for a moment, leaving the movie paused, and before you can speak he finishes the rest of his glass and pours another.

He doesn't drink from it, though, just sits there, broad shoulders still stiff.

"Is that the guy you've been seeing? Connor?" 

"There it is," you say, and he glances at you.

"Just wondering," he says, and he's so bad at pretending not to care. He sips his wine, more of a gulp, really, but who are you to judge?

Then he smiles at you, a bit sheepishly, and takes your hand, nodding toward the television.

You start the movie again, but you're watching him pour a fifth glass of wine about 20 minutes later when you pause it again and clear your throat.

He looks at you, smiling a bit stiffly. "What's up?"

"What's up? You're drinking wine like it's water and you're in the desert and you're sitting like you're on a bus, so I thought something might be up with you, soldier."

"It's good wine," he mumbles, gulping another half of his fifth glass.

"Are you drunk enough to tell me what's up?"

He sighs. "I'm sorry,"

"Steve, don't apologize. You can have the rest of the bottle and the other one I have in the fridge for all I care, I just want to know what's going on in your head right now."

He finishes his glass and puts it down on the table with a clunk. He's a big guy, but he seems to be a little tipsy, for sure. You're hoping this gets the truth out of him, anyway.

He turns toward you, and yeah, his eyes are a little glassy. "You didn't answer my question, that's all."

"About Connor?"

He sets his jaw again. "Yep. That one."

"He's not. He's the guy I was seeing a while ago and I'm not seeing anymore, but does it matter?"

"No, of course not." He sat back against the couch, looking at you in the big tshirt with your university's logo on it.

You wait.

"Is he a big guy? That's a big shirt-"

"Steve, oh my God," you can't help laughing at him. He looks so adorable with his glassy blue eyes and his messy sex hair and his black boxer briefs.

He smiles, looking down at his hands. "I want to apologize but that seems to make you mad at me."

"You're just cute when you're jealous, that's all," you admit, snuggling up next to him and kissing his cheek.

"I'm not jealous-" He starts, and then sighs and pours a sixth glass of wine. He offers you a refill and you decline. 

He drinks a bit of his wine and then sits it back down. He puts his arm around you, holding you tightly to him. He leans his head down to your ear.

"I am jealous," he almost whispers. "I kind of want to rip that shirt off you."

"Wouldn't be the first one tonight," you quip, and he laughs, putting his other arm around you, too and hugging you.

He's holding you too tight for that to be all, so you wait.

"So the guy you're seeing, do you have one of his shirts, too, or-"

"Steve."

He loosens his grip and leans up and finishes his wine before he turns to you.

"Look, I know I'm a little drunk and I am definitely jealous and I know that's stupid but it's the way I feel."

You don't miss the fact that he was pretty okay with everything until after you'd had sex, and it made sense given his history, so instead of teasing him you cut him some slack.

"What do you want to know?"

"It's not my business."

"It's not, but I know you can't help how you feel, so I'll tell you. If you want to know."

"I don't want to know," he says, darkly, pouring yet another glass of wine.

You wait until he's drained it, not even pretending with those half gulps anymore.

"I do want to know," he says, and he sounds a bit defeated, so you kiss him before you say anything.

"I don't," you say.

"Does that mean-"

"It means I haven't slept with him." The relief on his face is obvious, so you continue. "There's been....stuff."

He holds up a hand. "Nope. Nope, don't need to know that much."

He's sitting forward, a little twitchy.

"You can have more wine if you want it," you say, dryly.

"Oh, thank God for wine," he mutters, and pours another glass.

"You'd probably do better drinking it straight from the bottle at this point," you tease as you watch him drink it.

He's still twitchy, his shoulders slumping.

You put your hand on his shoulder. "I told him about you."

"You did?" He perks up a little at that, shoulders straightening, and gives you a big smile.

You nod. "I did. He was way more of a jerk about it than you were, if that makes you feel any better."

His smile widens. "It does."

"Are we done with twenty questions yet?"

His smile fades. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, soldier. Can we watch the movie now?" 

You do watch it, or at least try, since he's drunk and handsy and all smiles now, it's mostly flirting and talking, and halfway through Lost in Translation, you fall asleep.

You wake up when he puts you down on your bed. You can't believe he's picked you up and carried you down the hall without waking you, but the wine made him drop you a little clumsily on the bed.

He climbs in next to you and you let out a big yawn.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, sweetheart," he says, one arm around you, seeming extra heavy, one under his pillow.

"What did I say about apologies, Steve?"

"That you'd kick me out of bed. I'd have to take an Uber, for sure."

"So how drunk are you on a scale of 1 to the room is spinning?"

"An eight? Maybe nine. I finished the bottle," he said, a bit glumly. 

You chuckle and snuggle up to his chest. 

His eyes are closed and you figure he'll pass out soon, so you close yours, too.

"Do you like him?"

You open your eyes and prop up on one elbow. He's looking at you, now, eyes all wide and earnest.

"Yeah," you say, honestly. 

He nods. "I thought so."

"I like you, too, Steve."

He nods again. He's still looking at you so you wait.

"I know I'm just a dumb grunt, sweetheart, but I'm gonna be so good to you."

Your heart aches a little he's so sweet. "I know that, you big dumb grunt." 

"So you'll give me a shot, right?"

"Most definitely." 

He gives you that big, goofy smile again and you lean down to kiss him.

"Lights out, soldier."

You're asleep almost as soon as your head hits his shoulder.

 


	8. a series of small fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, you're eye level with a broad, bare chest, one with very distinctive scars across the left shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly sorry this has taken so long. I really couldn't pick a lane that's honestly what happened, and I still can't, but FUCK IT nobody lives forever

You wake up to sunlight streaming in the window, and when you roll over with a groan you hit a solid mass of man.

  
Last night's events come back to you in a flood, and you can't help but smile. Steve is only in his boxer briefs, facing you. He's got one arm still around you, and he's snoring softly, mouth open.

  
He's fucking gorgeous, his jawline could literally cut diamond, and you stare at him in awe for a moment.

  
You think he might be severely hungover after all that cheap wine, so you wiggle out from beneath his arm and snake off the bed.

  
You're putting ice cubes in a glass when your doorbell rings.

  
Without thinking, you open the door instantly, assuming it's Stephanie, as you had not yet checked your phone to what you were sure were her incessant requests for details about the night before.

  
Suddenly, you're eye level with a broad, bare chest, one with very distinctive scars across the left shoulder.

  
Bucky is standing in your doorway, wearing nothing but tennis shoes and sweatpants, glistening a little with sweat. He's not breathing hard, just smiling at you, and he's got his hair tied back and he looks so good your breath catches in your throat.

  
"Hey, doll," he says, easily. "I was out for a run and you were kind of on my way so I thought I'd see what you were up to."

  
You remember there is a large man snoring in your bed and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

  
You wonder briefly if you're still asleep, if this is some guilt dream, and then Bucky scans you and loses his smile.

  
"Bad timing?" He asks, shortly.

  
"Um," your mind is completely blank. It is too early in the morning to be dealing with this.

  
"Mr. Gentleman not so gentlemanly after all, huh?" He says, his voice rising, you flinch a little instinctively. He heaves a deep sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

  
"I'm sorry, doll. I should have called. Text me later, ok?"

  
He turns to walk off and you grab his prosthetic arm. You don't miss that you've never seen him out without a shirt, this is something new, him becoming more confident with this, and he turns back to you and his eyes are flashing.

  
"Are we okay?" You ask, quietly, prepared for him to tell you to fuck off.

  
He smiles at you, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "We're good, doll. Have a good morning."

  
He's gone, then, down the stairs before you can process that he's taken his hand out of yours, and you shut the door with a sigh.

  
You turn around and Steve is standing in the doorway, already dressed, pale, looking like he's just seen a ghost.

  
"Hey, soldier," you say, a bit wearily, thinking he's just hungover.

  
"I...I have to go."

  
"What? I was gonna make some eggs-" But he's already stalking towards the door, and as he brushes past you to put his hand on the doorknob, you grab his hand to try and stop him.

  
"Steve, please-" You don't know what you're asking him for. You don't know if you're asking him to stay, to understand, to know that you're still interested.

  
He sighs deeply and puts his forehead on the door, eyes closed.

  
"You should choose him," he says, teeth gritted.

  
Those are the absolute last words you'd expected to come out of his mouth so you are stunned for a second, and he goes to open the door and you yank on his arm, turning him towards you.

  
His face is still pale, his blue eyes liquid, and you realize something big has happened, but you aren't sure what. Your head is so muddled with sleep and what's gone on the last few moments that you don't know which way is up.

  
"What are you talking about? What's going on?"

  
Steve looks away from you, as if he can't bear to look at you.

  
You feel like crying and you don't know why. Bucky left in a huff, obviously hurt, and now Steve was acting like he couldn't stand the sight of you. You thought you'd be able to do this, to tell them both and everything would be all right, but now it seems you've ruined things with both of them.

  
"I should choose him? Is that what you want?"

  
Steve lets out a bitter chuckle. "It doesn't matter what I want."

  
"Yes it does! Of course it does! I thought we were okay about this! don't understand what's changed!" You're almost yelling, and you are crying, now, it's been an emotional morning, and damnit, you hate to cry.

  
He looks at you again, finally, and his blue eyes are full of something you can't name. "Everything has changed," he says, and he gently takes his hand from yours.

  
You're crying in earnest, now, and when he opens the door you call out his name.

  
He stiffens for a moment, seems to be waiting for something.

  
"Please don't go, Steve. Not like this."

  
He stands there an instant more, and then chokes out, "I'm sorry," opens the door, and walks out.


	9. oh, there it is that's a pretty big explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't panic, you think, there are a lot of guys named Steve.

After you'd been rejected by both Bucky and Steve, you sit on the couch crying for about half an hour before you decide to suck it up and call Stephanie to come over.

As you're opening your phone, the doorbell rings, and you run to it, not sure if you're hoping it's Steve or Bucky or neither of them.

  
It's Bucky, looking sheepish and wearing a long sleeved shirt again.

You burst into tears all over again when you see him, and again, you don't know if you're relieved or not.

  
Bucky looks alarmed and in seconds, he's in your apartment with his arms around you, and you're sobbing into his chest like a child.

  
"Hey, doll, what happened? Everything's okay."

  
"No it's not!" you wail, all dignity lost. "I ruined everything!"

  
"Hey, no you didn't." He's stroking your hair with his good hand and eventually your sobs turn into sniffles and you pull away, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

  
"I'm sorry," you say, tears still welling in your eyes.

  
He gives you a sweet half smile, his hand still on the back of your head. "I'm the one who should be sorry, doll. I acted like a jealous idiot earlier and I came to apologize. I hope I'm not the reason you're crying."

  
"You are and you're not," you say, glumly, and when he drops his hand you plod over to the couch and sit down, already emotionally exhausted at 8am.

  
"So is this about Mr. Gentleman?" He asks, but there's no bitterness in his tone this time. He sits down next to you, elbows on his knees, looking at you with concern.

  
"Yes and no."

  
"You're being awfully cryptic this morning, dollface."

  
You chuckle at that, and give him a look. He smiles at you again and takes your hand.

  
"If you need to talk about it, I'm here."

  
"I thought you didn't want to hear about it," you say, stubbornly.

  
Bucky chuckles. "Well, I don't really need all the details if you don't want me to murder him, but if you do, I probably know a couple of people-"

  
You laugh again, and take a deep breath. "I told him about you," you said.

  
"Oh, yeah?" He tries to sound disinterested, but you don't miss how his shoulders straighten.

  
"Yeah. He took it really well, really. I mean, he got kind of drunk, after, but....I thought everything was okay. Then when you showed up I guess he heard you and he just..."

  
"Did he hurt you?" His jaw is clenched so tightly you think he might break his teeth, and you squeeze his hand to reassure him.

"God, no, not like that, Buck. He's not that kind of guy."

  
"Thank God. I really didn't want to go to jail today."

  
You give him a half smile. "You know what he said? He told me to choose you."

  
Bucky looks a bit shocked. "Well, gee, I guess I might like this guy more than I thought."

  
You punch him in his good shoulder, but you do chuckle a little.

  
Bucky is looking at you intently, his blue eyes dark. "So you really like him, huh?" he asks, softly.

  
You want to look away but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "Yeah. I do."

  
His face falls a bit and he looks down at his hands in his lap, clicking his metal index finger against his thumb again.

  
You know that gesture, and you take his prosthetic hand to stop him. "I really like you, too, Buck. I'm confused."

  
He looks up at you again, and sees your eyes welling with tears again. He sighs heavily. "Look, it goes against everything I want to say this, but you shouldn't write him off just yet."

  
"What? Bucky Barnes, on Mr. Gentleman's side?"

  
Bucky chuckled. "I wouldn't say that. It's just...I guess I've been in his shoes. When you told me about him, I acted like a caveman, and even right now, seeing you in his shirt I kind of want to throw you over my shoulder and take you to my cave."

  
He pauses while you laugh at him, smiling at you wryly.

  
"But seriously, it's tough when you really like someone and you're not sure how they feel about you. When you have competition it can get pretty weird in your head, you know?"

  
"I know. I just really thought everything was fine. We talked it out for a long time. And then you blew me off and I felt like maybe I just fucked it all up."

  
"I didn't mean to blow you off, doll. I just...caveman, you know?"

  
"I don't know, really, but okay, sure. Men are so territorial."

  
You have your knees up on the couch now, turned to face him, back against the armrest.

  
He's not looking at you, now, looking down at his hands again, moving his fingers on his prosthetic hand as if itching to clink his fingers together.

  
"I can't speak for Mr. Gentleman, but if he likes you as much as I do, it's not all territorial."

  
"No?"

  
"No. Not exactly." He still won't look at you.

  
"Explain it to me?"

  
"Well, ever since you told me, I haven't been able to think about much else," he admitted, still looking at his hands. "I remembered you telling me you were seeing him yesterday, and I couldn't sleep last night, just wondering how it was going. I really was out for a run but it wasn't like I was really in the neighborhood or anything."

  
"What do you think about?"

  
He took a deep breath. "Everything. What he's saying to you, how you are responding to him. If you let him kiss you goodnight. If he took you to bed..."

  
"But Bucky-"

  
He holds out his hand to stop you. "I know, I know, it's none of my business. It's just that all the things I was imagining last night obviously happened or he still wouldn't have been here this morning, and when I realized that it just..."

  
"It just what?" You wish he would look at you.

  
"It hurts," he choked out. "It hurts, and I hate it. It's like a rock in my gut. I know it's stupid. I know we barely know each other, but that first night....it was like I was actually here, actually here for the first time in God knows how long and I just...I don't want that to be taken away."

  
"Bucky, look at me." He does, and his eyes are so dark they almost look violet instead of blue.

  
"I can't make you any promises. Not yet. But I will say that I'm not going anywhere. Even if it doesn't work out, I'll still want you in my life."

  
"Yeah?"

  
"Yeah. You caveman."

  
He laughs a little, but his eyes are still dark, his shoulders slumped, and you can't stop yourself from moving toward him. You pull him into a hug, tucking your head against his shoulder.

  
"You wanna get some breakfast?" He asks softly.

  
Ten minutes later, you're walking toward a diner downtown, since you live so close. Bucky takes your hand and you let him hold it, feeling more comfortable with him than you ever had.

  
Your mind is finally a little clearer, and as you approach the diner, Bucky drops your hand and holds his up to wave at someone. You glance over and there's a guy standing outside the diner, leaned up against the wall. He's a big guy, but he looks slumped down a little.

  
"Hey, doll, that's my buddy. I want you to meet him." He beams at you.

  
You smile back, thinking that he looks much happier than he has in a while.

  
"Hey, Stevie!" He calls, and you stop in your tracks.

  
_Don't panic,_ you think, _there are a lot of guys named Steve._

  
The guy is walking towards you, broad shoulders slumped, and as he approaches you scream at yourself inside your head.

  
_Are there a lot of guys named Steve who are huge and military and have a friend who was injured in the war you FUCKING IDIOT??!!!_

  
He's there before you can move a muscle, and Bucky throws his arm around your shoulders. "This is Steve Rogers, doll. He's my best friend."

  
He's grinning at Steve like he's the sun and you can't move, you can't speak.

  
Steve looks at you and he looks like it physically pains him to smile, but he does. His blue eyes are flashing. "Nice to meet you," he says, woodenly, and sticks out his big hand for you to shake.

  
Wordlessly, you shake his hand and you wish you were dead. You had thought you were the luckiest girl in town but it turns out you are the unluckiest, hands down.

"You wanna have breakfast with us, pal?"

  
Steve smiles at Bucky wryly, looking like he'd rather have a root canal, and you can relate. "Nah, Buck, I'm not feeling so hot. Drank a little last night."

  
"Hot date?"

  
You can't take your eyes off Steve's face.

He's pointedly keeping his gaze on Bucky. He flinches visibly at the question, and glances at you. "You could say that."

  
Bucky looks at him a bit quizzically. "You sure everything's ok, pal?"

  
Steve turns his gaze back to Bucky, and gives another forced smile. "Peachy. You guys have fun. See you later, Buck."

  
He claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder and is striding down the sidewalk before you can get over your shellshock.

  
Bucky glances down at you. "He's being weird. He's normally a big teddy bear. Things must have not gone well with his girl last night."

  
You almost want to laugh. This is awful. This is unbelievable. You have to go home, like right now. Thank God, Bucky gives you an out.

  
"Hey, doll, you're not looking so hot. You're pale." He puts his hand on your forehead. "You feel hot, too! Are you getting sick?"

  
"I must be," you mutter, feeling dizzy.

  
"Hey, wanna take a rain check? I'll walk you back home, go get you some chicken soup-"

  
You stop him. "Hey, Buck, it's been kind of a weird day. Would you mind if I walked home alone? I will call you in a bit and we'll reschedule, ok?"

  
He looks down at you a moment, and then smiles. "Sure thing, doll. I'll pop in and get some eggs and you go home and get some rest, okay?"

  
He leans down, and you panic because you think he might kiss you, but he just drops a chaste and sweet kiss on your forehead that makes you want to cry all over again.

  
"Feel better, doll."

  
You nod, unable to speak, and all but run in the other direction.

  
You start to cry again as you're running, and you run smack into what feels like a wall after only a few yards.

  
You land on your ass and when you look up to see Steve towering over you, you hope a hole opens up in the earth to swallow you whole.


	10. the smoke inhalation is what kills you if you survive the explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So this is like a...noble self sacrifice?"

You're lying on the pavement and looking up at Steve and you're not sure you've ever felt so miserable in all your life. You almost expect him to walk off without a word.

"Are you okay?" He asks, softly, and holds his hand out for you to take.

You can't read the expression on his face. You take his hand and he pulls you up, gently. You are unsteady, still feeling adrift and dizzy, and you bump against his chest.

He's breathing harder than he should be, and you have no idea what to say. He speaks first.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he looks about as miserable as you do. He bows his head and touches his forehead to yours, closing his eyes.

"Steve," you whisper hoarsely, throat hurting from all the tears, "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know-"

"I know you didn't. I know. It doesn't matter." He's breathing even harder, and you put your arms around him, slowly, as if he might run off, and when he doesn't stiffen you hug him, hard.

"It damn well does matter. I should've put it together, but I didn't want to ask him to talk about it so I didn't know about the army--" and then you're crying to hard to keep talking.

You feel his arms come around you and you bury your face in his chest. You're so tired for it to be this early in the day. What in the fuck had you gotten yourself into?  
"It's okay. Don't worry."

You pull away. "It is not okay. Of course I'm worried. What the fuck do I do now, Steve? How do I tell Bucky that the other guy is his best friend?"

"You don't," he said, his blue eyes dark and steely. "You don't ever tell him. Ever."

You're shocked. "What? How-"

Steve looks away from you. "It's fine. I'll bow out. He's the better man, anyway. He always has been."

"You're bowing out? Just like that?"

"Just like that." He still won't look at you, and it makes you a little angry.

"So you get to fuck me and then just walk away?" 

His eyes shoot to yours and he takes a step toward you. "You know it's not like that. I would never-"

"It is like that, Steve. It's exactly like that. I had no idea who either of you were before a couple of weeks ago, and it's not like I did this on purpose, you know!"

He looks away again, broad shoulders slumped. "I know that. I know that. But Bucky has just gotten to a good place, and after Helen left I thought he'd regress but you...it's you who has been helping him."

His voice is miserable but he sounds honest. He always does.

"So this is like a...noble self sacrifice?"

He shrugs.

"Look at me, Steve."

He does, and his eyes are almost angry now. "I don't want to be noble, all right?" He almost shouts. 

"What do you want, Steve?" 

"I want you," he says, quietly. "The real question is: what do you want?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. "But I know I don't want to lose either of you. I know I want to be able to make my own choice and still have both of you in my life."

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I just...I can't see you for a while."

"You want me to keep seeing Bucky and just lie to him?"

"You have to." His jaw is set in a hard line. "If he finds out, he'll try to bow out, try to push you away. Trust me, I've known him my whole life."

"Oh, so he'd do exactly what you're doing?"

"Yeah, but it's different for him! You know it is."

"It's easy for you, then?" You are angry, and you don't know if you have the right to be or not.

He takes you by the shoulders, looking right into your face. "You have no idea how hard this is for me. I want to be kissing you right now."

You shake him loose and back away. "Okay, soldier. I'll do what you want."

He doesn't speak, just looks at you, his jaw clenched.

"I'll go back to the diner and spend the day with Bucky and see what happens. I guess he doesn't have any competition anymore," You know you're being cruel but you can't help it.

He still doesn't speak, and part of you wants him to. Part of you wants him to try and stop you.

He doesn't, though. He keeps standing there, fists clenched at his sides, just looking at you.

You turn and walk toward the diner. You feel his eyes on you the whole way, and when you turn to look just before you open the door to the restaurant, he's still standing there, shoulders slumped. 

You tear your eyes away and head towards Bucky, who's sitting at the first booth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously this is going to be more than 10 chapters.
> 
> Do I know who she's going to choose? NOPE


	11. there's a lot of smoke damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He slides next to you on the couch and you look up at him for just a second before realizing that if you speak, it'll all come tumbling out. So instead, you kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter of sin. You have been warned.
> 
> Steve is still in the running. You'll see.

You do a pretty good job of pretending everything isn't fucked up and awful and find yourself easing back into being with Bucky.

He makes it easy, because he's all smiles and his hair is falling out of the ponytail it was in and he's so handsome it makes your heart hurt.

It isn't until you are back at his apartment, sitting on the couch and waiting for him to bring you a cup of tea when you finally let it all sink in, and he sees it on your face when he walks into the living room.

"What's wrong, doll?"

He slides next to you on the couch and you look up at him for just a second before realizing that if you speak, it'll all come tumbling out. So instead, you kiss him.  
He makes a surprised noise in his throat but returns in kind, kissing you back fervently.

You straddle him again, repeating your performance from the last time you'd been together, and keep kissing him. Kissing him makes your body react and your mind go blank, and it's the only thing you can think of doing that doesn't result in you telling him that you fucked his best friend the night before.

Bucky lets it happen, kisses your neck when you pull away, rolls underneath you when you grind against him, but when you move your hands to the waistband of his sweatpants he stops you.

"Not so fast, doll."

You look at him, a bit confused.

"I feel like you're thinking about somebody else right now," he says, quietly, maintaining eye contact, his eyes dark and a bit hurt.

It's like a spear through your gut.

You remember Steve, focus on the anger you felt at his words.

"I'm thinking about you, Bucky. Just you."

"Don't lie to me," he warned.

"I'm not. There's no one else. Not anymore."

"No?" His eyes look a bit hopeful, and you hate yourself.

You shake your head.

He kisses you then, hard, and after necking on the couch for a while he leads you to the bedroom.

You sit on the bed and feel a bit awkward for a moment. He's already got his shirt off, and your top is open, your breasts out.

You recline a bit on the bed and he comes toward you like a big cat, kissing your thighs, your stomach, leaving a trail of fire where his mouth has been.

He puts his hand down your shorts, touches you just like he did before, and you're arching up beneath him in moments.

You still his hand. "I want to come while you're inside me," you say, your voice low, and he groans.

"Don't talk like that, doll, or this will be over before it starts."

You can't help but smirk, and suddenly it feels okay again, even if just for a moment. It feels fun again.

"You like it when I talk dirty, huh? I want you to fuck me right now, Bucky. I want to feel your cock inside me."

He groans again, burying his face in your hair, and then looks at you. "I'm serious, dollface. I haven't been with anyone since the arm came off, and you're really making it hard for me."

"Damn straight I am," you quip, and put your hand down his sweatpants, cupping his erection, moving your hand up and down.

He takes in a sharp breath and moves away from you.

You whine a little. "You're no fun."

While he's gone, you slide out of your shorts and underwear and finish taking off your top, remaining reclined on the bed.

He comes back into view and tears a condom open with his teeth. "Oh, I'm plenty of fun, doll. Just need to get back on the horse, so to speak."

  
"Well, quit yapping and get on with it, Mr. Buchanan."

"Yes ma'am," he says, grinning wickedly, and he slips on the condom and takes your ankles and yanks you to the edge of the bed.

You let out a surprised yelp and he chuckles low in his throat before he guides himself inside you, thrusting hard, and if he weren't holding on to your hips, his metal hand cool on your flushed skin, you'd be propelled up on the bed.

You moan his name, and he groans, thrusting again and again, fucking you hard, no soft and gentle here, at least not now.

You love it. You've been worked up ever since you were straddling him on the couch and when he thrusts again and his pelvic bone hits your clit you're close.

  
Bucky feels you clenching around him and stills.

You groan loudly. "Don't stop!"

"Tell me what you want, doll," he says, his eyes dark with lust and something else, maybe, something you're too blissed out to decipher.

His hair is still tied back but it's gotten loose with your hands in it for the last hour and it falls into his face.

"I want you, Bucky. Want you to fuck me hard. Want you to come so hard while you're fucking me."

There's an almost predatory look on his face, now, and he starts moving again, fucking you so hard your head is bouncing up and down on the bed, and instead of looking at your tits he's looking into your eyes and it feels almost too intense.

You close your eyes.

"No, doll. Don't close your eyes. Want you looking at me. Want to know it's me you're thinking about."

Your eyes pop open.

"That's it, babydoll. Want you to come while you're watching me fuck you."

You just knew he'd have a dirty mouth. What a shocker.

He leans over you and takes a nipple in his mouth, laving over it while still inside you, not moving, and then leans back up and fucks you harder, and you come just before he starts to get jerky and uneven, and as you clench around him he groans your name and buries his face in your neck.

He stays there for a moment, breathing hard, and then slips out of you and pads to the bathroom.

You scoot up on the bed while he's gone, suddenly feeling cold with the absence of his body heat, and slide under the covers.  
He's back in a moment, and laughs a little when he sees you snuggled under the covers.

He slides in next to you, naked and smooth, and you throw your arm around his waist and put your head on his chest. You can hear his heart beating a little too fast.

  
"If you still want to see that other guy, I understand." He said, suddenly, and you lean up on your elbow to look at him.

He looks so vulnerable, looking at you, his hair still in that messy ponytail, and you reach out to brush a lock from over his eyes.

It makes you want to be honest with him, or as honest as you can be. "He bowed out. Said you were the better man."

Bucky chuckles. "Well, clearly, I am, but isn't that your decision to make?"

You shrug.

"If he changes his mind, I won't complain. I know I come on strong, maybe too strong, and I don't want to scare you off."

You laugh, and it sounds bitter to you, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Bucky, if I was easily scared I would've never gone out with you in the first place."

He laughed, and then when you put your head back down on his chest and snuggled closer, he put his arm around you, hugging you close.

"Get some rest, doll. I know it's been a long day for you."

You hear his words on a cloud, drifting into sleep.


	12. there's debris everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wanted more than anything else to be happy for Bucky. He wanted to feel happy for his best friend rather than the ache in his gut when he remembered Bucky's arm casually around your shoulders, like it belonged there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so dramatic. It was a ton of fun to write, and I may have been inspired by poor Steve crying in the Avengers 4 trailer. I want to give my hubby Steve a big hug.

Steve turned off his phone for two full days.

  
He called Bucky, first, told him he had the flu and not to come over so he wouldn't get it. Bucky was skeptical on the phone, but he accepted it.

  
He only left his apartment to pick up a couple of six packs from the corner store.

  
He barely slept, and had fitful dreams of Bucky lying in his hospital bed, drugged and one armed and still saying, "Hey, pal, I'm alive, aren't I? Quit your blubbering."

When Steve lost Peggy, he thought nothing else could hurt that much. He thought if he could survive that, he could survive anything. But when they found Bucky, pale and bloodless, his right shoulder just a ragged stump, and Steve knew his best friend was dead, just knew it, and it'd be his fucking fault for falling asleep on watch.

  
Those few moments before the medic announced that Bucky had a thready pulse, Steve didn't breathe. He didn't move. He stood there like the useless idiot he'd always been and he imagined a world without Bucky Barnes and it was the worst hell of his life.

  
When he was a skinny, sickly kid, angry at the world because his mother was ill and his father was gone, Bucky had been there, watching his back.

  
When Steve had been dozing in your bed and heard Bucky's voice, half asleep, he thought he was back in Brooklyn, after his mother died, living in Bucky's shitty apartment.

  
When he realized where he was and what was happening, it was like something exploded in his head.

  
He'd fucked up again. He'd fucked up 18 months ago when he'd fallen asleep on watch, and he'd fucked up now by getting with the only girl that might help Bucky pull himself out of this hole he'd been in.

  
Only Steve had been in that hole with him, trying to push him out of it, and he felt like he was in it alone, now.

  
He tried not to think of you. He really did. He tried not to think of how soft your mouth was against his, or how you felt in his arms, how you fit there so perfectly. He tried not to think of the awe on your face when you found your portrait, how much it had touched you.

  
Because it didn't matter, did it? It didn't matter how much his heart fluttered when you smiled at him, because the other guy was Bucky. Even if Steve had fought for you, fought his best friend, he would've lost. Who could win against Bucky? He'd always been handsome, popular with women, and Steve had always been in his shadow.

  
He could tell from the first time Bucky talked about you that this was different than just a flirtation.

  
Steve wanted more than anything else to be happy for Bucky. He wanted to feel happy for his best friend rather than the ache in his gut when he remembered Bucky's arm casually around your shoulders, like it belonged there.

  
Instead, he tossed and turned in bed, visions of Bucky kissing you, his hands all over you, and he felt like there were hot coals in his stomach.

  
On the second night, a little drunk, he ordered a pizza.

  
When the doorbell rang in fifteen minutes, he was surprised it was so soon.

  
He swung the door open and felt like someone had punched him in the throat.

  
There you stood, holding a tupperware container and a sheepish, sad smile.

  
**********************************************************************************

 

  
You were trying to remember to breathe when you rang the doorbell.

Bucky had begged you for this, begged you for two days to go over and check on Steve, because he wasn't answering his phone and you had gotten a flu shot earlier in the year. 

You suspect the flu was really just an excuse to be away for a while, and boy, did you relate to that. You couldn't tell Bucky why you didn't want to go, and he looked so concerned and honestly, you want to see Steve. You want to apologize for the way you acted, how angry you got, because after seeing Bucky worry about him the way he did, you understood their friendship better.

  
You were hoping that you were over it, now, that the two days away would have made any lingering feelings dissipate, and when you saw him he'd just be Bucky's friend and not a potential love interest.

  
When Steve opens the door, he looks like you'd punched him instead of just rang the doorbell.

  
He hadn't shaved, looked like he hadn't even slept, but somehow two days of scruff and no sleep had made him even more attractive. Your heart leaps into your throat as soon as you saw his face, and you know your hopes were in vain.

  
Steve doesn't speak to you, but you see him swallow hard as he gestures you into his apartment.

  
You sit the chicken soup down on the counter next to multiple beer bottles, and clear your throat.

  
Steve wordlessly goes to the fridge and opens himself another beer without offering you one.

  
You turn to him and open your mouth, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

  
"Wait," he says, and then wordlessly drains the bottle of beer like a madman. He puts it on the counter, breathing hard.

He gestures for you to continue, and then looks at you expectantly. "Okay. Go ahead."

  
"Hey, soldier," you say, softly, at a loss for words.

  
He looks as if you'd punched him again.

"Don't do that," he warns, his voice hoarse, and opens the fridge for another beer.

  
He is halfway through chugging it when you grab his forearm. He lowers it to the counter, his blue eyes flashing at you, almost desperate.

  
"Stop that," you say, firmly. "You're gonna puke, you idiot."

  
"So?" He says petulantly, like a child. He hasn't pulled away from you, so you slide your hand down to take his and lead him to the couch to sit down.

You kneel between his legs, looking up at him.

"So I'm guessing you don't have the flu."

He shakes his head, miserably, looking down at his hands.

  
"He's worried about you, you know."

  
"Tell him not to worry. Tell him you came over and I was bundled on the couch watching Netflix, and that I'm on the mend."

"I'm worried about you."

  
HIs eyes shoot to yours. "Don't," he says, again, warning in his tone.

  
"Don't what? Don't worry about you?"

  
"Don't pretend like you care," he says, voice rising, and he looks down again.

  
You get to your feet, and he looks up at you.

"Look, Steve, I know you're drunk and I know you're upset but you know I care. You're the one who bowed out, okay? You're the one who ditched me."

  
"Yeah, and looks like you're real cozy with Bucky now, so I did you a favor, didn't I?" He sounds angry but he looks awful, shoulders slumped, face belying how miserable he is.

  
"Sure, we're cozy all right. We cuddle up in bed at night and I constantly lie to him about what's going on with his best friend. It's great."

  
You didn't want this to happen. You wanted it to be over. You didn't want to be standing here, near tears. You didn't want to want him to hold you and tell you it was going to be okay.

  
Steve groans and runs a hand through his hair. "I am a fucking idiot."

  
"Why?"

  
"Because the only part of that sentence I heard was that you went to bed with him and I should be happy for him. I should be so happy he's found someone."

  
"You're not?"

  
He smiles at you, and it's a sad excuse for a smile. "Oh, sure. I'm super happy. I love thinking about how you guys are probably fucking all over his apartment."

  
"That's what you told me to do! You practically pushed me into his arms!"

  
He stands up, then. He's too close to you, and part of you wants to back away but you can't move.

  
"Oh, I'm sure you hated every second of it. I know he's good; I've heard the stories my whole life. Or did you think about me while he was making you come?"

  
He's still too close to you, his angry blue eyes flashing down at you, nostrils flaring, and he's breathing hard, his chest almost touching yours.

  
You stand your ground, and stubbornly fight back angry tears.

  
"Stop it, Steve."

  
"Don't you think I want to? He's all I have. He's the only one who has stuck around, and here I am just itching to take his girl in my arms and kiss her until she forgets his name."

  
"I'm no one's girl," you say, and you're angry but your voice is hoarse with unshed tears.

  
He looks down at your trembling lip and his face softens.

  
He closes his eyes and lowers his forehead to yours in a mirror of the last time you'd spoke, and your heart hurts.

  
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry about all of this. I'm sorry I can't be a better man and make you leave right now."

  
"Do you want me to leave?" You ask, softly, not moving.

  
He takes in a deep breath. "No, but you better."

  
"Why?" You ask, your heart pounding. He still has his eyes closed, and his face is so close to you that you can see his ridiculously long eyelashes fanning out over his cheekbones.

  
Suddenly, he opens his eyes, and stares into yours for an intense moment.

  
"Forgive me," he whispers, and the mirror to your first date is a spear through your gut.

  
He lowers his mouth to yours.

  
Your arms go around his neck as if you aren't controlling them at all, and you feel his hands under your shirt on your lower back for a delicious second before he breaks away, breathing hard.

  
"Steve, what are we going to do? We have to tell him."

  
He shakes his head, rubbing a hand across his mouth where he kissed you. "No. We never tell him."

  
"So you're gonna, what, come out on dates with us and sit in the corner and brood? He knows you, Steve! He knows you better than anyone else and he knows something is up!"

  
Steve plops back down on the couch and puts his face in his hands. "I know. I know. I just...I need a couple more days to get it together, okay? It'll be fine."

  
You will not cry. You will not cry. "I can't do this. I can't just pretend to be happy around him all the time, Steve. I hate lying to him. I hate it!"

  
He lifts his head from his hands to look at you. "Just be happy, sweetheart. You don't have to pretend. He's the greatest guy in the world."

  
"I know he is! But I didn't get to make a choice, Steve! You made it for me! And ok, sure, whatever, you don't want me. But you can't-"

  
"Don't tell me I don't want you," he breaks in, blue eyes flashing with anger.

  
"You get to tell me what I want! You say I want Bucky, I must want him, and yeah, I do! I do want him."

  
"Then what's the problem?" He's almost shouting, now.

  
"I want you too, you idiot! I want to be able to make my own choice, to explore my own options. Don't you get it? This will never work! Even if I keep seeing Bucky and just pretend I never saw you as anything more than his best friend, there will always be...this...thing, between us, this secret we share, and it'll fuck everything up!"

  
Steve sets his jaw stubbornly. "I can make it all okay. I'll just take a couple of days and-"

  
You shake your head, taking a few steps back, and angry tears finally start to stream down your face and it makes you even madder.

"No. I will not do this anymore. I didn't set out to ruin a friendship. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I thought I did it the right way but I was just unlucky, I guess. I'm bowing out, Steve. I'm not going to let you fall on the sword. It's my mistake."

  
"What?" His voice is softer now. He stands up, takes a step toward you, unsure.

  
"I can go back to my family's house, across the country. I'll find a job there, maybe I'll write about you guys." You chuckle. "God knows there's plenty of material."

  
"Wait-" He reaches out a hand to touch you and you take another step back.

  
"Don't worry. You won't hear from me again. You and Bucky can bond in your hatred over me."

  
You turn to go and you're almost at the door when he calls your name. You stop, but you don't look back at him.

  
"Don't go," you hear, behind you, and his voice is pleading and hoarse.

  
You remember saying the same thing to him a couple of days ago.

  
"Goodbye, soldier."

  
You're almost unsurprised when you swing open the door and Bucky is standing there in a medical mask, holding a pizza.

  
You can't help it. You start to laugh despite the tears on your cheeks, and you swing open the door.

  
Steve has gone totally pale.

  
Bucky brushes past you and throws the pizza down on the counter, clattering beer bottles everywhere.

  
He tears off the mask and looks at you both. "Who wants to tell me what the fuck is going on here?" He says, almost calmly.

  
You finally stop your hysterical laughter, but you're done. You can't lie anymore. Fuck it.

  
"Hey, Buck, I want you to meet Mr. Gentleman," you say, gesturing toward Steve.

Before you can leave and let them hash it out, you see Bucky clench his jaw and punch Steve in the face.


	13. the smoke damage is extensive, but maybe it can be saved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "So, you wanna bail, Steve wants to bail... does anyone care what I want?"

Steve doesn't fall, just stumbles backward, as if he were almost prepared for it. 

You let out a cry and reach out to grab Bucky's arm, but you drop your hand when you realize he isn't going after Steve, just standing there, shoulders stiff.

"Buck, I didn't know, I swear -" Steve's voice is hoarse and pleading. His lip is bleeding. 

"I know you didn't, punk," Bucky says, voice softer than you would've imagined. "I know you didn't but when you found out you should've just told me." He turns to you, blue eyes flashing. "You both should have told me."

Before you can speak, Steve does it for you. 

"I begged her not to tell you. I don't want to mess anything up, Buck, I just needed a couple days to get my head right."

Bucky looks back to Steve. He smiles almost dangerously. "Oh, you backing down, then, Stevie?"

"Course I am, Buck, I--"

"That easy, huh?" Bucky looks over at you and pulls you to him, his good arm sliding around your waist. You're too shocked to protest. Before you know what's happening, Bucky leans down to kiss you, quickly.

When you look over at Steve he has his head down, breathing hard.

Bucky laughs scornfully. "Just look at your face, you big, dumb asshole. You like her just as much as I do."

Steve doesn't look up. "It doesn't matter."

"I guess not. You're too much of a pussy to compete with me."

Steve clenches his jaw, but doesn't look up. 

You shake yourself loose from Bucky's grip. "Look, fellas, I'm not interested in being the prize for your pissing contest, ok? I think I'll see myself out."

"Oh, you're backing out then, doll? Gonna meet Steve in this romantic, secret rendevous and then head off into the sunset?"

"You asked me to come here," You say, teeth gritted.

"Well, that was before I had all the facts, wasn't it? I'm sorry I interrupted the dramatic conclusion to your romance here, but-"

"Stop it, Buck. I only came because you asked me to. Nothing happened. "

'That's not true, " Steve said softly. "I kissed her. I don't wanna lie to you anymore, Buck. I'm sorry. "

Bucky nodded, jaw clenched. "Well, if you're the guy she's been seeing, I'm assuming you did a hell of a lot more than kiss her, pal."

Steve looked up at him, eyes red. He nodded miserably. 

Bucky sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "So, you wanna bail, Steve wants to bail... does anyone care what I want?"

Steve is silent, so you are too. You don't know how you should be feeling. 

"You know, when I came out of the hospital, everyone treated me with kid gloves, like I would break if the slightest thing went wrong. As if I was only half a man after I lost the arm."

"Bucky-"

He looks at you, gaze direct, blue eyes still angry and hurt. "I thought you were different. Both of you. " 

"It isn't like that, Buck," Steve said stubbornly. "You're the better guy, that's all."

Bucky laughed then, and the sound was so harsh you flinched. He turned to you. "I'm betting he didn't tell you, did he, doll?"

"Bucky, don't-" There was a warning in Steve's voice. 

Bucky ignored him, his gaze intense, mouth turning up at the corner in a bitter half smile. "Steve here, Mr. All American, he saved me and eight others from an Afghan camp six months before my arm came off. They tortured us for six weeks before Steve went AWOL to find me."

"Bucky-" Steve took a step toward Bucky and then stopped.

"He still thinks I'm the better guy," he said, and that dangerous look was still on his face. "That's the funny thing, doll, he really believes that. I told them everything. They pulled out my toenails and my eyelashes, shot me up with drugs, and I told them everything. Plans, coordinates, you name it. So when I begged Steve to kill me in that camp instead of taking me back, you know what he did? He and the rest of the Commandos burned that camp to the ground so the Army would never know just how many of my brothers I got killed. Losing the arm was my just desserts, and I knew it."

"Don't say that! It doesn't matter. I woulda told them too Buck, if it'd been me." Steve has his fists clenched at his sides.

"Nah, pal. You would've died first, and we both know it. You deserve that medal of honor you keep hidden away in the closet like a dirty secret and I deserve this hunk of metal for an arm."

You've been quiet, listening with tears streaming down your face, but now you reach out and touch Bucky's shoulder.

"No one deserves what either of you went through. I'm sorry."

Bucky shrugs your hand off. "I don't deserve your pity, either. Or Steve's."

Steve steps forward again angry. "Nobody pities you, you jerk! We just didn't want to hurt you. I'd rather bow out and be miserable than to make you miserable, that's all."

"I don't want to bail," you say, suddenly.. "I want to keep getting to know both of you and I know it's complicated but I think I deserve to get to make my own choice. I don't see why we can't lay down some ground rules and go back to the way things were. Unless, of course, you don't think I'm worth it."

They both turn to you then, shaking their heads in horror and stumbling apologies and you can't help but smile.

Bucky looks at Steve. "You game, punk?"

"Only if you are, jerk."

Bucky nods. "Okay then. Rule number one: no one lies to protect feelings or avoid confrontation."

"Rule number two," you chime in, "you two cavemen tell me how you're feeling instead of bailing," you look pointedly at Steve and he blushes and looks chagrined, "or acting like a tough asshole." This time you look at Bucky and he grins and nods.

"Rule number three," Steve says quietly. "we need to establish a timeline for a choice."

They both look at you, and you suddenly feel very small. "A month. And one more rule."

They both look at you expectantly. 

"No sex," you say, and wish you had time to capture their faces in a photo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, folks. I've decided. This is the end of the main route, as it were. After this I'll be posting multiple chapters at once as a "choose your own lane" experiment. I'll label the chapters accordingly so you can skip the others. You can read em all if you wanna! I have about 3 more chapters planned for each route.
> 
> This is probably gonna be a disaster.


	14. it's time for the cleanup...any volunteers?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky grins at you. "Don't worry, doll. You know I don't bite...unless you ask me to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I have a few more chapters in the current narrative before I start the choose your own,so this is safe for all ships:Reader xBucky, Reader x Steve, and Steve xReaderxBucky.

 

 

 

You are insanely nervous before your date with Bucky. It isn't as if you felt like it was a new start, or anything. Hell, he had been inside you already...but so had his best friend.

  
You feel like a whore. Like you wear a scarlet A on your forehead. You shouldn't feel that way, you know. You were your own woman, you owned your own body and sexuality, and you were exploring your options, so to speak.

The problem was, the two men you were exploring happened to be childhood friends and brothers in arms. You were sure the date would be awful, awkward, so you insisted to meet in public, at a local coffee shop.

  
When you show up, though, he greets you with a warm hug and a smile.

  
He looks good in a tight white Henley, long sleeved, but it hurt your heart that he has his prosthesis behind his back, hiding it again.

You sit down hesitantly.  
Bucky grins at you. "Don't worry, doll. You know I don't bite...unless you ask me to."

You can't help but grin back.

"Fair enough. What are you drinking? Let me guess, Americano, black?"

"Psh. Little do you know."

  
The barista, with perfect timing, calls out his name.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, and when he returns, you can't help but laugh.

"Really?"

He dives into his frappuccino, leaving whipped cream on his full bottom lip.

On impulse, you lean over the table and kiss him, tasting white chocolate and whipped cream.

"That's why I love frappuccinos," he says, his mouth turned up at one corner.

You giggle like a schoolgirl, and you feel better. Freer. For a moment, you're just here, in the present, with this gorgeous man across from you looking at you like he wants to eat you up.

Then, as soon as it starts, it's ruined.

"So....how was Stevie?" He looks away from you, down into his whipped cream as if there might be an answer there.

"Buck...don't do that." You heave a deep sigh.

  
"What?" He sticks a finger into his whipped cream, scooping some up on his finger and putting it in his mouth, looking at you innocently.

He's so fucking hot. You hate him. You like him. You hate how much you like him because maybe you like his best friend just as much.

They're different. So different you can't imagine how they became friends, stood by each other so long.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," you snark, hating the effect he has on your body, your heart.

He leans back in his seat, his left arm still by his side. You wonder if he knows he does that. You wonder if he knows that his mood affects how he uses it.

"Just curious. Stevie is so straight laced...just wondering if he dissappointed. I know how you like it rough."

His voice is casual, but his eyes are intense, his body language tense, shoulders straightened.

"Yeah, ok, Buck, I get it. How long are you going to be angry with me?" You cross your arms over your chest.

Bucky sighs and slumps his shoulders a bit. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry, exactly...."

You raise an eyebrow at him.

He sighs again. "Ok, ok. I am angry. But not at you. Just...at this situation. I knew I had competition. I just...didn't know it'd be with the best guy I know."

"It's not a competition. I'm not a prize."

"I know that. I just mean...Stevie's good. He's so good, with this big heart...and I should want what's best for him."

"And that's me?"

Bucky looks at you again, eyes flashing a bit.

"Maybe. But you're good for me. Being with you...I feel like a man again, a regular joe, instead of this metal machine the war made me." He places his metal hand on the table with disgust.

You reach across and put your hand on his prosthesis, and he flinches.

"Bucky...I like you. I like who you are, metal and all."

He doesn't look at you, just pulls his hand away, groaning a little.

"You say things like that and it makes me like you too much," he mutters.

"Hey, well, never said this would be easy."

"Easy is no fun."

"Damn straight." You smile at him. "So you gonna buy me a fancy frappuccino, or just eat yours sexily in front of me?"

He laughs, loud and open. "Yes, ma'am."

  
He goes to the counter, and you look around the coffee shop, people watching.

There's a big guy in a ballcap in the corner, head buried in a book. You're trying to read the title, and then Bucky's back with a coffee with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream on top.

You dive in and forget about reading the title with him across from you.  
..............................................................

Steve Rogers had never been very good at hiding. That was Buck's territory. He was the man in the shadows, so silent their army buddies called him The Ghost.

Steve was loud and upfront, confronting everything head on. Bucky used to tell him he would get himself killed that way, but Steve couldn't help it. He fought on the front lines, visible, and he got the medal for it, but Buck was the one hiding in the sand and saving his ass.

So now, hiding in the corner of a coffee shop and pretending to read Joyce Carol Oates with a ballcap pulled down over his face, he felt like he stood out like a sore thumb.

He used to be smaller, a scout at first until they realized that he was terrible at hiding and now that he was bigger he felt awkward, all thumbs.

Why was he doing this, anyway? Why was he here? He was an idiot. A stalker.

He isn't cut out for this. He tells himself over and over to leave, to stop this, and when Bucky comes in and orders his ridiculous coffee, he sinks down in his chair and tries to hide his face.

He didn't have to. Buck is nervous, all fidgety energy, and she walks in and Buck's shoulders ease, he smiles at her, and Steve hates the way his chest tightens when she smiles back, melts into his arms.

He should go. He should go and leave them to it, bow out and let Buck be happy. But Steve Rogers has never backed away from a fight, even when all the odds were against him, and he couldn't bring himself to start now.

He can't stop watching, peeking over his book like a psychopath.

She leans over and kisses Bucky, and that's when he has to look away. It's a different feeling than the rock in his gut he felt when Buck kissed her out of spite, earlier.

They look easy, happy. Comfortable. His chest hurts.

He'd never been one to chase skirts. He'd watched Bucky go through girls on leave, one after the other, and had been shocked to see they weren't even angry that he didn't call them. It was easy for Buck, effortless, and he'd had a string of flings before Helen and been friendly after with all of them.

His charm worked wonders on the ladies, but Steve had always been awkward and shy. He could command in the Army, and he'd never thought he'd meet anyone after Peg.

He'd never thought he'd feel this way again, those butterflies in his stomach when she smiled at him, the way she felt beneath him, enveloping him like he was meant to be inside her.

He felt himself flushing and pulled the cap down lower.

He heard Buck's voice. "So...how was Stevie?" and stiffened.

Her reply is snarky but she doesn't take the bait.

_That's my girl,_ he thinks.

No. Not yet. Maybe not ever, the way Buck was turning on the charm.

  
Steve couldn't resent him like he could another suitor, but he was jealous. He'd always been a bit jealous of Buck,but now...

How could he compete? He didn't have an ounce of effortless charm.

He was so inside his own head he barely heard her voice.

"Hey, soldier. Fancy meeting you here."


	15. it'll take at least a month to make this habitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only took a few moments for you to notice the unmistakable line of that roman nose under the cap, the tattoo peeking out from another tight blue tshirt.
> 
> You inwardly roll your eyes. Predictable. Men and their egos.

It only took a few moments for you to notice the unmistakable line of that roman nose under the cap, the tattoo peeking out from another tight blue tshirt.

You inwardly roll your eyes. Predictable. Men and their egos.

"Hey, Buck, while I'm enjoying this frappucino, why don't you go grab your bike so we can take a ride around downtown?"

Bucky smirked at you. "Bossy, aren't you? I walked here, you know."

You shrug. "Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets," you sing, and then shoot him a patented sexy grin.

Bucky shakes his head, and hair falls loose from his ponytail over his shoulder. You stand up and go over to him, brushing it away.

He leans up to kiss you, and you pull away. "Uh uh, not until I get what I want."

Bucky grins again. "Good thing I like them feisty," he says, as he scoots the chair back and stands, overwhelming you a bit with his height and wide shoulders.

He leans down and kisses your collarbone, sending goosebumps all over you in your shoulder bearing shirt.

"Be back in a flash, dollface." He says quietly, and he's out the door with a bounce in his step.

You stride over to Steve, who has his head buried in a book you're sure he's never read, and say quietly.

"Hey, soldier, Fancy meeting you here."

He jolts and drops the book. It thuds loudly on the floor, making everyone look over.

You chuckle and he flushes, scrambling to pick it up. You put your hand on his wide shoulder.

"Steve...what are you doing here?"

He flushes again, glancing up at you with panicked blue eyes. "I...I wanted some coffee." 

"You're a terrible liar, soldier."

He sighs. "Spy work wasn't my area of expertise."

You slide into the seat across from him. He looks at you miserably, shoulders slumped.

"I can tell. A cap doesn't hide that handsome face, you know."

"I didn't mean to impose. I just-"

"Wanted to see how things were going? Checking up on me?" You're teasing, because he's all blood red in the face and he's adorable, but you are a little pissed.

"No! No, I just...I wanted to make sure-"

"Policing my date for the no sex policy? Did you think we'd go at it in the coffee shop bathroom?"

"God, no. At least, I hope not. I don't know. I think it's clear that I'm a mess." He puts his hands on the table, clasped together.

You reach out and put your hands on his. "Steve....I need you to give us space. Do you think Buck would stalk us on our date tomorrow?"

"Yes," he blurted out. "Only we'd never know it. They called him The Ghost for a reason."

You laugh a little at that. "Maybe you're right. But you're not cut out for this, soldier. You look miserable."

"I am miserable. I don't know why I'm doing this. I don't know what I thought I'd accomplish, coming here and watching you kiss whipped cream off his mouth--"

He sounds bitter, and you cut him off.

"It's a date, Steve. It's what people do. It doesn't mean I don't still like you, you know."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah, you idiot. Why else would I usher Bucky out of here and come talk to you? If I was going to choose him today, I wouldn't string you along. I am just feeling   
things out."

"Don't let him feel too many things," he muttered, eyes flashing a bit. "there's a policy in place, you know."

You roll your eyes. "I made the policy, Steve. Just go home or do whatever it is you big soldiers do when you aren't stalking people. I will text you later and we're still on for dinner at your place tomorrow, right?"

He nodded. He looked so vulnerable under that stupid cap, his hair long enough to go over his ears and collar. You heard Bucky's bike roar outside, and you stood up quickly.

He watched you, his blue eyes dark. You smiled at him and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

Without warning, he slipped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. You squeaked a little, and then he kissed you, good and proper.

You pulled away, standing up and straightening your blouse. "Hey, soldier! That wasn't very gentlemanly."

"I'm not always a gentleman," he said, stubbornly, and pulled his cap down again. "Have fun, sweetheart."

"See you on Thursday, secret agent man," you tease, and you're vindicated that he blushes again.

Before Bucky can come in the door, you go out to meet him. He's still straddling the bike, and he's a sight, really, with those big biceps flexing, hands on the handlebars. He nods to you and you hop on the back, sliding your arms around his narrow waist.

You ride around downtown and end up stopping for takeout Thai, and Bucky is still flirty, but a little more quiet than before.

Back at your apartment, you pour yourself a glass of wine and a glass of water for Bucky.

While you're opening up the boxes and getting plates, he's just watching you from the living room. At this moment, you hate your open kitchen.

"Did I grow two heads or something?" You ask as you take the food to him, placing it on the coffee table.

He shakes his head, smirking at you. "Just like looking at you, that's all. How you're curved in all the right places.

You're standing above him, holding plates, and he slides his hand up your considerable hip to the slight dip at your waist. You shiver a little, and pull away.

"Don't make me drop this, Buck. I like Thai food more than you."

He laughs at that, and you sit in the chair across from him. You eat and chat for a while about nothing important, talking about the book you're reading and his inexplicable love for nonfiction books about World War II.

You're telling him about a novel you read featuring a Polish woman who is made mistress to a German soldier and how you wrote an annotation on feminism within the Holocaust using it as a reference, and he gets quiet, watching you talk, smiling softly.

"What? Do I have food on my face?"

He shakes his head. "You're just beautiful, that's all."

"Yeah, I bet. Stuffing my face with glass noodles. Super sexy."

"Very sexy," he says solemnly, arms stretched across the back of the couch, even the prosthetic one, showing you that he's comfortable.

"I love seeing you talk about what you're passionate about. Your face lights up, you know? It's cute, all the hand gestures and excited smiles."

You blush, you can't help it. "You say all the right things, Mr. Buchanan." 

He smiles. "Gotta turn on the charm every once and a while, you know? But I mean it. You're very cute. And sexy."

"You can't be both!" You protest.

"I wouldn't have thought so either, but here we are."

You put down your glass noodles and look at him for a moment. "You're pretty sexy yourself, Mr. Buchanan."

"Yeah?" He's sitting on the couch like he owns it, taking up the whole space.

You step over to him, trying to channel the stripper walk Stephanie taught you during her 6 month stint as an exotic dancer to make tuition.

You straddle his hips, your signature move, you realize, and look down at him. He doesn't move his arms from the back of the couch, but tilts his head up to look at you.

You run your finger along his jawline, feeling a two day stubble or so. Both of them, such perfect jawlines. 

You kiss the hollow between his neck and collarbone, open and wet, and he groans. He still doesn't move his arms, although he flinches a little when you move your   
mouth to his left shoulder, where you know the scars are raised under his Henley. You lift your head and put your hands on his shoulders.

"Does it hurt?" You ask softly.

His eyes are darker now, almost pained. "Sometimes. It's sensitive. The stump hurts a lot at night, if I'm wearing the arm all day."

"You can take it off here, you know."

He smiles a little bitterly. "Not yet, doll."

You nod your head and kiss him just below the ear. "I can wait," you say, and slide your hands down his chest and under his shirt, his skin almost hot to the touch.

He trembles beneath your touch and still doesn't move, giving you the reins.

"You can touch me, if you want," you murmur against his neck.

"Oh, thank God," he mutters, and his arms go around you, even the metal one, and his right hand grabs a full handful of your considerable ass and you gasp and lean up, surprised.

When you lean up he does too, striking a little like a snake, and kisses your chest, right at the line of your scoopnecked blouse, down to bite at your breast through your thin shirt and bra.

You gasp again as he takes his right hand from your ass and pulls your shirt and bra down roughly, taking your left nipple in his mouth and worrying it with your teeth.

"Bucky," you say, meaning to sound stern but it ends in a moan.

He pivots you left and as your head hits the couch you come back to your senses. You remember this happening with Steve on your second date and you take a deep breath. He's so close to you and he smells so good, but you put both hands on his chest and hold him away from you.

He's breathing hard and you can tell by his hips pressing into you that he's hard already.

"Bucky," you say breathily.

"Yes, doll?" He says, his eyes lustful and dark blue.

"We gotta sit up."

"Why?" He almost pouts, and his full bottom lip mesmerizes you for a moment. You lean up and kiss him, softly, but that is a mistake because he kisses you back, hard.

You make a surprised squeak into his mouth and push on his chest. "Seriously, Buck, we gotta stop."

He leans up, then, brushing his hair back from his face as it's fallen out of his loose ponytail. You gotta get him some tigher ones. Although you're sure that loose ponytail is a trick to make him look hotter.

You pop your breast back into your bra and swing your legs around to sit up, breathing hard.

You hear him clicking his metal index finger against his thumb and your eyes shoot to his.

"Buck?"

"Yeah, doll?" He says, his eyes still dark, looking a bit distracted.

"What's going on in your head?"

He shook his head.

"No, Buck, look, we promised you'd be open with me and not be a tough guy, right?"

Bucky sighed and stopped clicking his fingers together.

He looks down at his metal hand for a moment, and then back over to you, sitting leaned over your knees on the couch next to him.

"Steve gets to kiss you, but I don't?"

You're stunned for a moment.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not blind, doll. I saw you through the window. I knew he was sitting there the moment we walked in." His eyes aren't flashing now, just a little pained, and you're flabbergasted.

"Buck, why the hell wouldn't you say something?"

He looked back down at his hands and shrugged. "Not my business what Stevie does with his time. My question is, why didn't you say anything?"

You sigh. "I just didn't want to cause more drama, Buck. I told him to stop spying on us and he said he would."

"And got you in his lap for a kiss," he said bluntly, voice almost matter of fact.

"I didn't know he was gonna do that, Buck."

"You liked it, though, didn't you?" He looks over at you and now he's angry and clicking his fingers again. 

"Buck-"

"I didn't know he had it in him, really. Bit of a revelation, Stevie taking charge like that."

"Wasn't he commander or something?"

"Captain," Bucky barked. "But never with the ladies."

"I'm no ordinary lady," you say, getting angry yourself. You didn't feel you did anything wrong.

"That's for damn sure."

"Buck, did I do something wrong? I don't think I did."

Bucky sighs and runs his hand through his hair, wrapping his hair tie around his wrist and letting his hair free.

You can't help but wrap a strand around your finger.

"I just don't like feeling like I'm in the dark. I know I can't be a fly on the wall every time you see him, but this was supposed to be my time. Our date."

Now he won't look at you.

You straddle his hips again and take his face in your hands. Stubbornly, he closes your eyes.

You kiss his closed eyelids, one after the other. "I'm sorry, Mr. Buchanan. I told Steve to stay away from our dates."

"Yeah?" His jaw is clenched, eyes still closed. You kiss his jaw, liking the way the stubble moves against your lips.

"Yeah. I'm here with you now, right?"

"Are you?"

You lean down and kiss him, hard. "I am. But there's a policy, you see..."

Bucky groaned. "I hate that policy. Aren't there loopholes?"

"Maybe. But think of it this way: would you want Steve taking advantage of loopholes?"

His eyes pop open and he makes a noise in his throat kind of like a growl. 

"Hell no."

You laugh a little, and climb off him in spite of his protests.

You finish your food and talk until the sun comes up. You find yourself waking up with your head on Bucky's chest, his right arm around you tightly, so you don't fall off the couch, Thai food leftovers everywhere.

You yawn, raising your head. Bucky's looking down at you with sleepy blue eyes. 

"Good morning, dollface."

"Morning," you grumble. "What time is it?"

"Wouldn't know. My phone is in my pocket and my arm's been asleep for I don't know about three hours now, so...."

You get up hurriedly. "Jesus Buck, I'm sorry-"

He grabs the back of your neck with his supposedly asleep hand and pulls you down to kiss you, morning breath and all.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, sugar."

You smile at him as you pad to your phone on the charger, and it's 3pm and you cannot believe you've slept so long. Of course, it was daylight by the time you passed out.

There are six texts from Steve, with the last one being, "I'm coming over early so we can go grocery shopping together" sent about an hour ago, and you inwardly start to panic.

You take a deep breath and realize that everything is out in the open now, right? Nothing to worry about.

Bucky starts cleaning up and you hop in the shower. As you step out and grab a towel, you hear the doorbell ring and feel like you're having a heart attack.

You hear the door swing open and then hear Buck say, "Hey, pal," and you think you might die from anxiety.


	16. are there any survivors?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's there for an hour or so, sitting on the park bench like a stalker, flipping through his Instagram feed and trying not to go to your profile and willing himself to just go home and not be a weirdo. He knows how to do it, of course. Knows exactly what supermarket Steve would be at, shopping for dinner and wooing you in his awkward, sweet way, and it makes him feel like an asshole, thinking about hiding in the dairy section and watching Steve slide his arm around your waist.

Bucky had known it would be Steve standing there, of course. He'd swung open the door and greeted, "Hey, pal," cheerily, intending to tease you a bit about your two suitors.

Seeing the look on his old friend's face felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on him. Steve's shoulders were straightened, standing up stick straight like he'd been commanded to do it in the Army, and when he saw Bucky and scanned the room, his face fell like Bucky had punched him in the gut instead of just opened the door.

There's a tightness forming in Bucky's chest, and he doesn't like it. He wants to run. He wants to leave and forget about all of this, let Steve be happy with you, but his feet don't move. He thinks of your sly smile when he teases you, your head on his chest, and he can't do it. 

All he can do is let his best friend into your apartment and fake a smile. All he can do is to let you make your own choice, as much as he wants to make it for you, one way or another.

Steve doesn't speak, doesn't even attempt a smile, just a curt nod in Bucky's direction.

Then you burst out of the bathroom as if there's a fire, wearing nothing but a pink towel, your hair wet and loose down your shoulders.

"I need five minutes!" You yell, glancing at Steve before you glance to Bucky, looking panicked. As you practically leap to your bedroom, your towel slides and Bucky catches a tantalizing glimpse of thigh and hip before you slam the door.

Bucky doesn't hide that he's looking, and when he looks over, Steve has murder in his eyes. He scoffs at his old friend.

"Aw, come on, punk. It's nothing we haven't seen before." He winks at him.

"Don't talk about her like that," Steve says, his voice eerily calm but very deep, as if he's speaking from his chest instead of his throat.

Bucky's heard that voice before, when Steve was barking orders on a mission.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not insulting the lady, Stevie."

"I thought there was a rule," Steve said, his voice still calm but he's got this twitch in his jaw.

"Jesus Christ, Stevie, I was a perfect gentleman." He pauses to watch Steve's face relax before he winks at him again. "Almost."

He feels shitty about how good it makes him feel to rile Steve up, because he doesn't like the hurt way back in Steve's eyes. He doesn't like the way any of this feels right now, despite the good feelings he'd had when he'd woken up with you in his arms.

He especially doesn't like when Steve shakes his head as if shaking something loose, and gives him a miserable look. 

"I'm sorry, Buck. I don't mean to be a jerk."

Bucky takes in a deep breath and runs his good hand through his hair. "I'm the jerk, remember? Just loosen up, will ya? You look like you're going to an execution. We're still pals, right?"

Steve gives him a weak half smile, looking relieved, shoulders easing a bit. "Aw, of course we are, jerk."

It's literally five minutes when you come out of the bedroom, and Bucky is shocked. He always thought a woman's five minutes was a man's hour, but here you come looking fresh and beautiful, your hair still wet, makeup natural, wearing a pink top and jeans that hugged you in all the right places.

You're pulling on your flats when Steve grabs your wrist gently.

You look up at him, distracted, and before Bucky can look away he sees Steve's face go all soft, just like it used to for Peggy, and when Steve leans down as if to kiss you Bucky can't watch, pretends to be very interested in putting on his shoes.

There's this pull in his guts where something jealous and vile is brewing, and he can't take in a good breath while he's standing here, so he clears his throat and goes toward the door.

"Hey!" 

It's you who calls out to him, and he stills, surprised.

Before he can turn and make an excuse or make things teasing and light again, he feels your hand on his arm, the good one this time, thank God.

He turns, preparing his signature cocky grin, but your face stops him. 

"It's not polite not to tell a lady goodbye, Mr. Buchanan," you say, softly, and your eyes are so earnest, your jaw set as if you're ready to tell him off, and God he wants  
to kiss you, but not with Steve watching with a hangdog expression.

Before he can open his mouth, you turn to Steve.

"Excuse us just a moment, Steve," and before he can react you've pulled him out into the hallway, letting the door shut behind you both.

You're looking up at him with your chin jutted out, and he can't help but take it in his good hand and tilt you up for a kiss.

It's chaste for the most part, just a hint of tongue, and when he pulls away you're smiling.

"That's better," you say, and Bucky laughs.

"Make him show you a good time, dollface."

"Damn straight I will!"

Bucky leans down to brush his lips against your ear. "Not too good," he whispers, and he's smiling when he pulls away because you have gotten that set in your jaw again like you're about to let him have it.

He walks toward the hall without looking back, but his heart drops when he hears your door swing back open.

He makes it almost to his bike, telling himself again and again that although yes, as a decorated scout sniper, he could easily blend in and go on your date with Steve, but he won't do that because he's a grown man and you deserve your privacy and then when he straddles his bike he sees Steve ushering you into his car and his stomach clenches.

He is on his bike and headed toward the park near Steve's apartment complex before he knows what he's doing.

Bucky pops into the gas station to get a six pack, although he knows for sure that's a bad idea, the mood he's in. He finds a park bench far away from the playground and pops one open in a brown bag like a hobo. He feels like a mess. He's there for an hour or so, sitting on the park bench like a stalker, flipping through his Instagram feed and trying not to go to your profile and willing himself to just go home and not be a weirdo. He knows how to do it, of course. Knows exactly what supermarket Steve would be at, shopping for dinner and wooing you in his awkward, sweet way, and it makes him feel like an asshole, thinking about hiding in the dairy section and watching Steve slide his arm around your waist.

He's almost willed himself to go home when he hears Steve's open laugh, and he ducks his head instinctively.

The bench is far away from the playground, and Steve's broad shoulders come into view, with you trailing a bit behind, your hand in his.

Bucky feels his face growing hot. Why? It's innocent, really. Definitely nothing like you were last night, straddling him and tempting him with your curves and your big  
eyes.

It's almost worse, actually, because of how happy Steve looks, the smile on his face, the way you're looking up at him like he's made of sunshine.

Bucky stands and walks toward where he's parked his bike, and he hates himself for stopping, hiding behind the treeline for a few moments, watching, drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. So I got an unsolicited "concrit" comment about how my writing of Steve is shitty, and it really got to me, so I ALMOST abandoned this. However, I love writing it, and if I have any readers still, I am sorry for taking so long.
> 
> I thought I was pretty clear that I know this is trash but it's what it is, so just in case it needs to be said - if you don't like it, don't read it, I guess.
> 
> YOLO. This is a guilty pleasure and I love it, so I'm finishing this if it KILLS me.


	17. there are survivors, but they're probably pretty traumatized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks into your eyes again, and his steady blue eyes don't look so steady anymore.
> 
> "I don't want to fall in love with you," he says, quietly.
> 
> You think about making a joke, trying to lighten the mood, but he looks so earnest and insecure, and you lean up to kiss him.
> 
> When you break apart, he doesn't look any happier. 
> 
> "We all have choices to make, I guess," you say, your mood dampened a bit.
> 
> Steve shakes his head again. "I don't think I have a choice, sweetheart. I think it's too late."

Shopping with Steve was more fun than you thought it'd be. He was nervous at first, but soon he was all smiles and asking you to help him pick out the right eggplants.

You make a dumb dick/eggplant emoji joke, and you love the way Steve flushes down to the v-neck of his tshirt.

You have GOT to get him to buy bigger shirts. It's distracting how his biceps stretch the fabric as he pushes the cart.

Right after your dumb joke, he picks up a giant eggplant and says, "This one?"

You look at it critically. "I dunno, soldier. You're big but you're not THAT big."

He flushes again, but he's grinning.

"Maybe you've forgotten," he says, softly, and slides his arm around your waist to pull you close.

His hand goes under the hem of your shirt and it gives you goosebumps.

Then he kisses your cheek, sweet and chaste, and you move on to find the pasta.

He's making eggplant parmesan, which you've apparently mentioned at some point being one of your favorite meals, and you're joking with him about how he's so obviously Irish and not Italian and it's fun and light. 

He's perusing the tomatoes and you're looking at the line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his eyes. He's got his big hand on his chin, where he's grown just the right amount of stubble.

He'd be a real menace with a beard, actually. He's got the face for it. The line of his nose is long, a little too long, really, but the slight imperfection just seems to make him more attractive.

He looks over at you and gives you a half smile, and your heart stutters in your chest.

Shit. You like him. You really do. You knew that, of course, even through all this drama and him fighting with Bucky.

You feel so confused. You've never felt so torn. You've got less than four weeks to make a choice between these two men, both so  
handsome, so sweet, and of course, both killer in bed. There's no clear distinction.

You feel a little panicky for a moment, and the furrow between Steve's brows deepens.

"You okay, sweetheart?" His deep voice is soft, and you notice the slight Brooklyn accent.

He comes closer, puts his hand on your face, and you feel flushed at his closeness.

"I'm good, soldier. Just hungry."

You force yourself to meet those steady blue eyes, and his face relaxes and he gives you an open grin.

"All right, let's get going then. I think we're good here."

You get your bags in the car and you glimpse the park. "I didn't know there was a park here," you say, nonchalantly, and Steve nods as he shuts the trunk.

"It's pretty deserted most of the time. They have really good swings, though."

Your eyes light up, and Steve seems to notice. He grabs your elbow.

"Wanna check it out?"

"It's embarrassing how much I still love to swing," you admit.

"I feel like there's a swingers joke there," Steve says, chuckling.

"Oh, I see. Want to share me already?" You're joking, grinning at him, but Steve's face goes momentarily dark.

He grabs your hand tightly. "Never." 

Noticing your expression, he drops your hand and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. You think idly that you'd seen Bucky do that, too, and wonder who had learned it from who in their long history.

He's looking down now, blushing. "Well, unless, you know, in a committed relationship, that was something you were into...."

You can't help but laugh. "Don't kinkshame me just yet, soldier."

He chuckles, but still looks a bit uncomfortable.

"Bet I can swing higher," you say.

"No fucking way," he retorts, and grabs your hand. "Let's go."

"Yes, sir," you say, and he shoots you a sexy look.

Before you can catch your breath, he's leading you across the street to the park.

Once you get to the swings, you feel a bit uneasy. You try not to ever be insecure about your size because for the most part, you love your body, but it's been a long road to get there after being teased in school so much.

You're very conscious about the way you fill up the swing seat, and then you feel Steve behind you, holding on to the chains.

"Oh, I get a push?"

"Call it a head start," he says, laughing.

Then he moves his hands down to the swing set, where you're insecure about how your hips fill it out, and he slides his hands between your body and the seat and pulls you backward before pushing you forward.

His skin on yours, even through your jeans, makes your heart race, and then you're flying upward through the air, squeaking.

He's laughing and you wish you could see him.

"Better catch up, soldier!" You yell, feeling euphoric from the adrenaline.

As you swing backward, you see him hop into the swing next to you and push himself off, and he's swinging higher than you are in seconds.

"Damn you and your upper body strength!" You yell, and he laughs again.

You can feel your cheeks flushing, and your stomach drops as you spread your legs to go higher. You feel young and free and happy, and the drama of the past few weeks seems to just dissapate.

You feel a bit lightheaded, though, so you slide your feet onto the ground, kicking dirt everywhere as you try to stop yourself.

"Giving up so easy?" Steve yells to you on his way back, and you shrug, still smiling, breathing hard from the effort.

Then instead of stopping himself like a normal person, you see him at the top of his swing jump out.

You remember doing that as a kid, but he's swinging so high it looks super dangerous and you cry out.

He drops to the ground like a goddamned superhero, graceful, dust flying up as he turns and comes toward you.

You're still out of breath. "That was...weirdly sexy," you murmur.

He's grinning at you as he comes toward you. "I'm a man of many talents."

"Well, well, soldier," you say breathily as he grabs the chains, pulling you up to him. "I'm looking forward to finding all of those out."

He's still smiling, blue eyes soft, and he slides his hands down again to the seat, holding it right where the chains meet the leather. 

He pulls you up effortlessly and leans down to kiss you.

You lean up to meet him, wrapping your arms around his neck, not thinking.

Your ass slips out of the seat and you're falling and you squeak inside his mouth, just sure you'll land on your ass in the dirt, with a bruise to boot, but then Steve's hands are under your ass and thighs with your legs wrapped around his waist, still kissing you.

You spare a moment to think how strong he must be before he's kissing you deeper.

You feel weirdly safe here, not like you're about to fall, but you break his kiss and slide down his body and put your feet on the ground.

He's breathing hard, but you're not sure if it's from the swinging or holding you up or because he wants to eat you alive, because that's how he's looking at you right now.

You feel uneasy for a moment, nervous, because he's so close and you're dirty and feel sweaty, so you back up a bit.

He heaves a deep breath.

You cock your head at him. "You okay, soldier?"

He grins at you. "I'm more than okay, sweetheart. Are you having as good a time as I am?"

"Probably better," you admit.

He shakes his head, still smiling. "Impossible."

You are happy to see him this way, after how awful all this had been for all of you. You remember him chugging a beer when you went to him after he'd discovered you were seeing his best friend, remember the misery on his face, and you're suddenly so glad he's happy that you throw yourself at him, giving him a big hug.

His arms go around you and suddenly the mood changes a bit. You can feel his heart racing, and when he pulls back from you, his face is different, maybe a little sad.

He pushes your hair back from your face, his eyes roving over your features.

"Oh, no," you say. "What's going on, soldier?"

He shakes his head a bit. "I just..."

"Hey---remember? Rule number 2: no running away."

"That's the thing, sweetheart," he says, still a little out of breath, his voice soft. "I can't. Not now."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought about running," he admits. "This morning when I saw you and Buck together I -"

He stops for a moment, but he doesn't back away, his arms still wrapped around you tight.

"I thought maybe I should run. Maybe he's what'll make you happy, and vice versa." 

"Steve-"

"I know, I know. There's no way to know that now. We all need time, but..." He swallows hard. "Every moment I spend with you, it gets harder and harder, and now...I just...I like you so much, sweetheart."

"Aw, I like you too, soldier," you say easily, trying to lighten the mood.

He shakes his head a bit again. "I need to stop talking," he says, chuckling a little, and looks down, his arms loosening around your waist.

You crowd him, not letting him let you go. "No, no...you tell me what's in your head, Steve. I need to know."

He looks into your eyes again, and his steady blue eyes don't look so steady anymore.

"I don't want to fall in love with you," he says, quietly.

You think about making a joke, trying to lighten the mood, but he looks so earnest and insecure, and you lean up to kiss him.  
When you break apart, he doesn't look any happier. 

"We all have choices to make, I guess," you say, your mood dampened a bit.

Steve shakes his head again. "I don't think I have a choice, sweetheart. I think it's too late."

Your heart is thumping in your chest. Before you can ask him what that means, he leans down to kiss you and you can't think anymore, his hands are going up the hem of the back of your shirt and you feel like where he touches is on fire.

You break apart suddenly whenever you hear a loud crash of broken glass, but when you both look toward the sound, you can't see anything.

You hear the revving of a motorcycle, and your heart drops.

You look at Steve.

His face is pale, and you know he knows, too.


	18. relief might be a long time coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You deserve easy," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "You deserve swingsets and kisses and happiness, doll. I don't know if I can give you that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am still doing a choose your own ending of sorts, but I think this story has a while to go before that happens.
> 
> It's become its own animal, and idk what I'm doing with my life.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Your heart drops. "Oh, no, that wasn't...Buck, was it?"

"Of course it was," he says, exhaling with a huff. "I should've known he'd follow us - I told you he's good at this-"

Anyone else would think he was angry, but you can see the concern in his even blue eyes.

"Steve-"

He nods, his face falling. "I know. I know. I'll take the groceries home and start cooking. You see if you can find him, okay? He'll probably go to either the bar or his apartment."

"Shouldn't you go? He's your best friend-"

Steve shakes his head. "I'm pretty sure I'm the last person he wants to see right now."

In the span of moments, you and Steve both are miserable again, and you hate it.

You give him a quick kiss on the lips.

Steve drives you to the bar first, and sure enough, you see Bucky's bike parked there.

You take in a deep breath, feeling uneasy, and then you feel Steve's hand on your thigh.

"It'll be all right, sweetheart. He'll be all right. This whole thing- I guess I deserved it, since I spied on you guys, too." 

"If you two boys could just keep your shit together," you hiss, and Steve laughs.

"I'm gonna try to work on it. Call me, okay?"

You nod and hop out of the car.

You walk into the bar and Bucky is the only one in there, sitting at the bar, shoulders slumped, his hair loose, for once, and covering his face.

He's drinking what seems to be a very large glass of brown liquor, and when you put your hand on his shoulder, he flinches.

That and his hand clenching tighter on the glass are the only indication he makes that he knows you're there.

"I knew it was you as soon as the door opened," he says, monotone.

You don't speak, mainly because you don't know what to say.

"It becomes like a reflex, you know. Not even that more like...a heartbeat, how you blink and breathe without thinking about it. I can clock who's coming in and out like breathing. I know by the sound of footsteps what kind of shoes they're wearing, if they're running or walking or stepping heavily...that's the first thing you learn. How to know without knowing, how to make it like breathing."

You don't move your hand from his shoulder and you feel his muscles twitch under your hand.

"It's exhausting," he says, taking a long swig from his glass. "It's part of the reason I don't drink. Dulls the senses and it starts to bother me that someone can get closer than 100 feet without me knowing it. It starts me thinking about how dangerous that could be. Today, it was useful, though."

"Useful?" You slide on the bar stool next to him, and when you drop your hand you can feel him relax a bit. His shoulders are slumped but his energy is very tense, and you gingerly put your forearms on the bar, being careful not to touch him again.

"Well, even if I wasn't this way, I know Steve like the back of my hand, so I knew where he'd go to shop, where to park myself to get the best view. I was so messed up in the head, though, I didn't hear you guys coming into the park. Although the sand makes it harder," he says, like an afterthought, and you don't like where his head is at one bit.

"He's not your enemy, Buck," you say, softly.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. You can't see his expression for his hair, he's keeping himself hidden from you.

"Never. Steve could never be my enemy. Even my fucked up brain knows that. Yet I'm clocking him like one, watching his face when he talks to you, because it's not just you I'm protecting. It's not just me."

"You're protecting him, too?"

He looks at you then, and he looks miserable but he's still smiling at you, a crooked and bitter half grin. "That was like breathing long before the Army trained me, dollface."

"Thinking about bailing?"

Bucky sits up and straightens his shoulders, sets his jaw, and takes another long swig of his drink before shaking his head. 

"Can't. Couldn't do that to Steve. See, doll, it's not your fault, but we're in a mess, here. If I bailed, Steve would be with you and never know if it was because I bailed or because you chose him."

"I would never--"

"I know that, doll. He knows that. But in the back of his head it'd always be there. Everytime we all went out for a drink, everytime he caught you laughing at one of my stupid jokes - it'd be there. It would eat at him."

You sit shell shocked for a moment. You'd never thought of it that way. Buck really did have a tactical mind. 

He sees your expression and sighs again. "I'm a mess, doll. You really should choose him soon, you know."

"Who says I'm going to choose him? I still have a month!" You retort, suddenly full of fire. You look at him, and for once he doesn't look away. "I hate this, you know. It's all drama and stress and you guys staking out the other's dates and-"

"You are the one thinking about bailing, then?" He's looking at you quizzically, and it makes you even angrier.

Tears are threatening at the back of your eyes and that of course doesn't make anything better. You've always hated that you started to cry when you were angry. 

"I can't!" You choke out. "You're both such messes, but so am I! Neither of you have any idea how messed up my head is about this and so many other things. It'd be hard, you know, if I chose either one of you. You're both wonderful guys, but the relationship thing, it's always hard, and this just makes it worse."

"If it's hard, why don't you bail?"

"My mother always told me that if it wasn't hard, it wasn't true," you say, setting your jaw. "Of course sometimes it's easy and fun, it was like that today, with Steve."

He looks away, then, and there's a tick in his strong jaw as he looks down at his glass. 

"Don't do that, Buck. Talk to me."

"You deserve easy," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "You deserve swingsets and kisses and happiness, doll. I don't know if I can give you that."

"You do make me happy, Buck. The other day at the coffee shop, eating dinner and talking - it's easy with you, too, a lot of the time."

"Not like it was today," he says. "I can't ever be that...free."

"I mean, I haven't known either of you long enough to know for sure, but I'm pretty sure you're underestimating the mess that Steve is. He's on the alert all the time too, you know. I can tell. He's ready for a fight, whether it's emotional or physical."

"I know he is. But he seems to let that go with you. You're good for him, and I should be happy."

"I'm good for him, I'm good for you, you're bad for me, he's good for me - I'm so tired of hearing that, Buck!" You burst out.

He's just looking at you calmly, dark blue eyes only a little glassy.

"I have my own brain, you know. A pretty good one, I think, and I'm a mess too but I know what I want."

"Do you?"

He's gotten close to you without you knowing, his forearm pressed against yours, hips tilted toward you. Sneaky bastard.

"Well-" you stammer, "I will. In a month."

"Yeah?"

He gets even closer, crowding you on the barstool, and you don't move, don't want to touch him first because of his reaction earlier.

He slides his hand across you and you let him lead you, turning toward him, and when you finally look up into his eyes he puts his hand on your face and leans down to kiss you.

It's quick but it's deep, and when he pulls away he's grinning.

"Couldn't help but steal a kiss on Steve's date night," he teases you.

"You're bad news, Mr. Buchanan."

"Trouble with a capital T, dollface," he's smiling and just like that, it's easy and fun again, and what the hell are you going to do with these two?

"Speaking of Steve, I should call him," you say, hesitantly, and Bucky ducks his head.

"Fair enough. I have a request, though."

"I'm sure you do." 

He's still crowding you but he's backed off a bit, nursing his glass. He tilts it toward you before taking a sip. "Let me make you a dirty martini."

You tilt your head and smirk at him. "How dirty?"

He grins at you and puts his right hand on the bar and vaults over it.

You shake your head at him, in awe. They're both so athletic and weirdly graceful to be such big guys.

He makes your martini expertly and sits the whole jar of olive next to it when he serves it.

You grin at him. "Even I can't eat that many olives, Buck."

He shrugs. "Just trying to give the lady what she wants."

He hops back over the bar, narrowly avoiding hitting the barstool on his way down, and for the first time you wonder if he is a bit drunk already.

You look around, just now remembering this is a place of business and no one is here but you and Bucky.

"Um...doesn't this place like...open, at some point?"

Bucky laughs, sliding on to the barstool next to you. "Usually. See, I know the owner. I was even planning to sleep here. He set me up a cot in the back."

"So you have friends other than Steve?" You ask, smiling.

He laughs again. "Not really, doll. You really don't know who owns this place?"

You drop your mouth open in shock. "No."

Bucky's nodding and sipping his enormous glass of whiskey. "Stevie wanted to open up a place in a college town, an arts college like yours, particularly. When I finally got out of the hospital, he asked me to help, and here we are."

"Who knew I was dating a business owner?"

"Co-owner, technically." Bucky shot you a look.

You sock him in his right shoulder and he groans, laughing.

"I cannot believe you let me believe you were a bartender in a college town when in fact you were co-owner of a bar in a college town! That's a big distinction, you know! And Steve, too! I had no idea."

"What did you think Steve did, anyway? Mull around that big ass apartment all day?"

"I dunno, I guess I thought he was working on his art."

Bucky tilted his head at you. "His art? You mean he actually let you see some of it?"

You blush a little, thinking of the first time you'd seen it. "Well, I stumbled across some of it at his apartment."

"Ah. So the other night wasn't the first time you'd been there, huh?"

He's turned his head back to his glass, avoiding your gaze.

You think about avoiding the question but then you remember rule number 1: no lying to avoid confrontation.

"No."

You see his jaw clench when he grits his teeth. "When did you meet him, anyway?"

Oh boy. So a tipsy Bucky was going to interrogate you while you drank your one martini, huh? You take a big gulp of said martini before you answer.

"The same day I met you. I came here looking for you and he came up to me at the bar and asked me out."

"You must've really made an impression."

"I guess so. He drew my portrait."

"Of course he did," Bucky said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't be mean! He's really good."

"He is," Bucky admitted. "He's good all around, that punk." Then he finally turns his eyes to yours, and they're a bit darker than usual. "Good in bed, too, I guess?"

You feel your cheeks turning red. "You are not seriously asking me that."

"Better than me?" He's still looking at you, face serious, no trace of a smile.

"Oh my God you did not just ask me that. You must be drunk."

Bucky shrugs. "A little. We promised all honesty, though, right?"

You turn away from him, face still hot. You jut out your chin a bit, getting angry. "Honesty and stupid male ego are two different things, Buck."

"I'm just curious, that's all."

"No! No he's not better! Just...different." You take a long swig of your drink.

"Different how?"

You shake your head at him. "I'm not doing this, Buck."

"Doing what?" 

"Telling you about the sex I had with your best friend!"

Bucky takes in a sharp breath. "Really don't want to know the details, doll."

"Then quit asking me!"

His face softens as he looks at you. "Sorry, sorry. Caveman, remember?"

You don't look at him.

"Gorgeous?" 

You still won't look at him, stubborn.

You hear the bar stool creak as he pivots toward you, his knee hitting yours a little hard. He must be drunker than you thought. 

He takes your chin in his hand and gently turns your face so you can't help but look at him.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft. "Don't be mad."

His dark blue eyes are soft, a bit glassy, and he's very handsome but you still huff. He releases your chin but you don't turn away.

"If you don't want me to be mad, you can't ask questions like that, Buck."

"I'm sorry. I just..."

"Just what?"

This is the point he'd usually make a joke, distract you by flirting with you, avoid the question, but you guess the alcohol makes him more honest, because he goes on.

"I hate it," He says stonily.

"You hate what? Steve?"

He shakes his head emphatically. "Never. I could never hate Stevie." 

It is really sweet how important they are to each other, really. Your heart hurts. You hate that you've come between them in any way.

"I know that, Buck."

"I do hate seeing you with him, though," he says, drunk and open, and where sober he'd avert his eyes he's still looking at you and it's a little intense.

"You know, you wouldn't have to see me with him if you didn't stalk us on our date," you say wryly.

"He did it first," he says, stubbornly, and you chuckle. 

You have finished about half your martini pretty quickly, and since you haven't eaten it's a bad idea, but if you don't do something other than look at Bucky's soft eyes and handsome face, you'll kiss him. You turn back to your drink and sip it.

Bucky's oddly quiet for a moment, and you are about to try and break the silence when he starts speaking again. You're startled when he does, so you look at him, but he's looking down into his almost empty glass. 

"I hate the way you look at him," he says, and his voice is lower, almost raspy. "I hate wondering if you look at me that way. I hate how you went all boneless when he kissed you today."

You hear the tinkling of broken glass, and you swing toward him, alarmed, and as you do you slice your hand on the glass that's broken in his prosthetic hand.

You hiss in pain. It's just a shallow cut on your thumb, but you feel stupid. You didn't know it was his left hand gripping the glass, or you wouldn't have done that.

Bucky's blue eyes have gone wide.

"Oh, no, sugar, I'm so sorry. I don't know how strong this stupid thing is." He glances at it in disgust, and you shake your head.

"It's okay. It's not too deep." You show it to him, glistening with blood.

He grabs your wrist with his right hand and before you can say anything he's popped your thumb into his mouth.

Your mouth goes dry and you forget about the pain in your thumb for a moment.

"Saliva helps seal a wound, you know." He says, and you're absolutely sure that is bullshit, but you can't call him out on it because your heart is beating very quickly and you don't know if it's the martini you drank so quickly or his nearness that's making your head spin.

"Can you tell me something, doll?"

You nod, speechless.

"Can you tell me this is all in my head? Tell me you don't think about me. Tell me you don't want me. Tell me you don't have any feelings toward me one way or another. Tell me you pity me, or hate me. Tell me your heart doesn't race when I'm close to you, or that it doesn't make you smile to hear my voice, and I can just let all this go. Can you tell me that?"

He's gotten closer and closer, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath.

"No," you whisper, just knowing he's going to kiss you.

When he backs off, you don't know if you're disappointed or relieved but suspect it's a strange combination of both.

He stands and takes a newspaper from behind the bar and slides the glass off into a wastebasket as you watch, not speaking.

He sits down heavily on the barstool again, taking a deep breath and putting his forearms on the bar, shoulders slumped. "You should call Steve. He'll be worried."

He smiles at you, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

You don't know why you say what you say next. It might be the vodka or the way he looks so defeated, as if you not denying that you cared about him had worn him out somehow, or how his face went all soft when he saw you were hurt.

"I will," you say softly, "but first, would you make me one more dirty martini?"


End file.
